Doubt
by Semjaza
Summary: Nero thinks he's losing his mind. And since when did holy water burn him? Dante wouldn't kill him without giving him a chance to explain, would he? Dante x Nero. Rated for language, violence, and sexuality. Ch. 22 is posted.
1. City of Grief

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Implied (very slight) Dante x Lady, eventual Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I don't own DMC or any of its characters. I do, however, drink too much.

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Chapter One: City of Grief

It seemed to Nero that he got more than his fair share of shit jobs. And it wasn't as though they just fell mysteriously into his lap, either. He was pretty sure that Dante dumped them there on purpose. Not overtly, of course, as that would've cut into some of the elder hunter's valuable sleeping-under-magazine time. It was more of a passive resistance on Dante's part, allowing the natural entropy of the universe to get under Nero's skin. A few more empties on top of the bar, a few more pizza boxes scattered in the general vicinity of the trash can; these things were largely ignored by Dante. He knew that Nero would cave long before he did, and with a lot of grumbling and cursing, would take care of them.

And this was how the Ex-Knight found himself, far too early on a crisp autumn morning, trudging bleary-eyed through the rough and dirty city that Dante called home. They were out of holy water, which didn't surprise Nero at all, given the way he'd seen Dante liberally dose a pack of etins a few months back. The young slayer pulled his overcoat more closely around him and scanned his surroundings.

Capulet City was nothing like Fortuna. His home town wasn't even seedy out on the dockyards; Dante's city seemed to revel in slums and ghettos, red-light districts and dives. Large blocks of buildings seemed mostly abandoned, and he was sure that ruined tower looming on the horizon wasn't entirely of human origin. Nero hated everything about the city; the filthy, trash-filled streets, the smog-choked air, the scattered trees stripped to skeletons by the season's wind and rain. He longed for bright sunshine and warm breezes, cool marble and night-skies filled with starlight.

He stayed in this hell-hole for three reasons: the Devil May Cry agency was here, providing work of the type that he preferred (namely, kicking demonic ass). Dante was here, and he wanted to stick close to the one person he'd met that was even remotely like him, even if said person was an asshole and a slob, and would never provide any assistance with his more existential questions about life, the universe, and everything. Not that he had many of those, and_ not_ that he'd ask Dante anyway. And thirdly, he could not go home to Fortuna. Ever.

Nero shook off his thoughts and continued on. The grey haze of dawn blanketed the streets and softened the edges of the worn-down buildings. His boots scuffed through fallen leaves and damp newspapers as he wandered past the homeless sleeping in doorways. No one came near him, no one accosted him, but Blue Rose was tucked into a shoulder holster, carefully out of sight, just in case. The slayer tugged the sleeves down on his coat, hiding his demonic arm, as his goal came into sight.

When Dante had first told him, he'd thought the elder hunter was messing with him. In Fortuna, holy water was created through an alchemical process, purified until its resonance disrupted demonic auras. Spring water from ancient, sacred wells was lovingly collected and sent to the laboratories for distillation. It was carefully crafted, blessed, and bottled. Dante, apparently, just stole it from a local church.

_This is probably blasphemy, or sacrilegious, or something_, Nero thought, quietly slipping up the steps to a building that looked just as old and tired as the rest of the city. He pushed at the door, surprised that it wasn't locked, and took a quick glance around the interior before stepping inside. His demonic senses didn't seem to work very well in the church, but he could still see a blurry-red human glow working in a room at the back. He figured it was the priest or something, and, ignoring the way his feet and legs and back ached with each step, headed towards the font.

Nero could tell it was holy: it hurt to look at it. The font was pale imitation-marble, and the blessed water was pooled in the shallow depression on its top surface. He quickly filled the flask Dante had sent, quietly cursing the older man's lazy ass but taking care not to spill a single drop. The ache in his back slowly worked its way up to the base of his skull, and feeling nauseous, Nero fled the church.

* * *

Arriving back at Devil May Cry, Nero found the shop still dark. It didn't surprise him: it took an emergency to get Dante out of bed before noon, and Dante's definition of emergency was quite a bit different than everyone else's. He left the flask on Dante's desk and headed to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. A few months ago, he wouldn't have braved this lost and forsaken land of linoleum floor and enamel countertop and utterly disgusting refrigerator, choosing instead to follow Dante's lead and subsist entirely on pizza. That had gotten old fast, and so Nero had managed to make the kitchen serviceable. Kind of.

The teen opened one of the battered cupboard doors and rummaged around till he found one of the three chipped mugs that Dante had managed not to break yet. Further searching revealed a can of coffee grounds, and an intensive sweep of the cabinet drawers turned up a few tiny packets of sugar that Dante had probably nabbed from the cafe down the street. The coffee maker had spewed its last drop of sludgy tar into Nero's cup, and Nero had accepted this gratefully, 'cause honestly, beggars couldn't be choosers, when the door slammed open.

It was Lady, of course. Not even Dante kicked doors in with such regularity. Nero padded softly into the main office room, hoping to make it to the couch before the huntress spotted him. He was never that lucky. The brunette's senses were carefully attuned; neither he nor Dante had even once managed to sneak up on her, despite the latter's seemingly constant attempts. Dante thought keeping Lady on her toes was a great game; Nero thought it was an easy way to get shot somewhere sensitive.

"You're up early, kiddo," Lady smirked, knowing he hated the nickname. It was only slightly more tolerable than Dante calling him 'kid' all the time. _These two must discuss these things when I'm not around. Assholes,_ he thought. Nero had to admit though, Dante and Lady, and even Trish on the rare occasions that he saw her, had been nothing but kind to him since he'd arrived a few months ago. Dante was happy to have help at the shop, and Lady was pleased that the bills sometimes got paid. And if they were curious as to why the Hero of Fortuna was suddenly on their doorstep with nothing more than the clothes on his back and his weapons, well, they didn't say anything about it to him.

Nero sat down on the couch with his legs tucked under him. He eyed his coffee dubiously. "Got a new hobby."

"Yeah?" Lady unslung the Kalina Ann and sat it gently on the pool table.

"Petty theft."

The slender woman snorted, taking a paper from her pocket and heading towards Nero. "He's getting pretty bad if he won't even steal his own holy water. Lazy ass." She sank gracefully onto the couch beside the ex-Knight. It was a wonder she could even walk with all those guns strapped to her. "How's the coffee today?"

"Getting better. I'm not choking on it nearly as much," Nero grinned, feeling his mood improve simply by Lady's presence. It was a rare feeling; Lady was pissed off most of the time, usually at Dante, and by association, him. He'd watched her fight though, all bullets and swiftness and cunning, and he knew why Dante chased her. Not just for her lips or her legs or her breasts, but for her strength of will, for the fire that blazed in her mismatched eyes just before she shot something in the head. And for her scars. He'd seen Dante trace each one lovingly with his fingertips, on one of the rare occasions that she'd let him touch her, caressing over her thighs and arms and across the bridge of her nose.

Neither he nor Dante scarred at all. Lady, like all humans, wore time on her skin. Nero was suddenly envious.

"All right, Nero?" Lady's voice echoed beside him, bringing him out of his musings. "Your eyes went a bit red there for a second."

"Yeah, sorry, I'm fine," the teen laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Lady was still sitting casually on the battered leather sofa, but Nero noted that one hand had dropped to clutch a gun. His coffee was spilt on the floor. "That's been happening a bit since I got here, weird little things. Sorry."

"It's okay," she assured him, slowly relinquishing her grip on the pistol. "Listen, I've got to get going. When Sleeping Beauty finally wakes up, give him this." Lady handed him the paper and took her sunglasses out of her pocket. "It's a mission that will need some planning. You might have to break it to him gently; you know how he hates anything involving fore-thought."

"Yeah, I'll tell him. Maybe get him drunk first." Nero scratched at his nose, still trying to hide his embarrassment. He'd almost lost it there, for a moment.

"That's the spirit." The young woman stood up and stretched like a cat, weapons and ammunition glittering in the dim light. "You could ask Dante about these 'weird little things' you know. He's not a complete idiot when it comes to this sort of stuff."

"Hmm... Maybe." Nero murmured, obviously not committing. It wasn't like he and Dante ever sat down and talked about being partly demonic, or what exactly it was that made them different from others, or anything like that. All Dante ever wanted to do was fight, and drink, and score. If he ever thought about how huge and strange and confusing the world was, he didn't share such musings with Nero.

Lady rolled her eyes at his response. "Men," she muttered, picking up her bazooka and heading towards the door.

Nero watched her leave, sunlight moving across the room as she went through the much-abused door. He stayed on the couch. There was no way he could talk to Dante about this; there was no way he'd ever understand. He wasn't even sure what was going on himself. Maybe it was the effect of being in this awful city, surrounded by concrete and chain-link fences and garbage. Or the weather: the change in the seasons was more drastic here than in Fortuna, it could be messing with his head. He stared at the spilt coffee, claws tapping the arm of the sofa, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

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Comments are appreciated. :D


	2. Woe Everlasting

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Implied Dante x Lady, eventual Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I don't own DMC or any of its characters. I do, however, drink too much.

A/N: Thanks to the people who reviewed, or added this to alerts/faves! Your comments are appreciated.

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Chapter Two: Woe Everlasting

It seemed to Nero that Dante went out of his way to piss him off. And no, the elder hunter wasn't _mean_, or anything like that. He was more than nice most of the time. And that was the problem. Nero didn't get it. He didn't understand it when people were nice to him, or rather, he didn't understand it when _men _were. Kyrie had always been sweet to him, Trish looked out for him in an absent sort of way, and Lady tolerated him quite well, especially if he was handing over Dante's hard-earned cash. Admittedly, there were very few women in his life, but that he could deal with. He knew where he stood with them.

Men were not nice to Nero. He understood that too. He knew he wasn't easy to be around; proven by the fact that no one in the Knighthood had ever volunteered to work with him. Not that he would've let them, anyway. As for Credo, well, he'd been perfectly willing to cut Nero down when ordered to do so. It had hurt for a second, before Nero realized that he'd expected no less than that from everyone else, so why should Credo be an exception? But Dante just confused him. And it irritated the fuck out of Nero. He'd retaliate by being an asshole, which he pretty much had down pat by now, and Dante, instead of beating the hell out of him, as Nero would have expected and even appreciated, would respond by being nicer. It was infuriating.

The young Ex-Knight was still musing when he heard Dante get out of bed and head for the shower. He stood up abruptly, his legs protesting after being curled up for so long. Stretching as he went, Nero walked to the kitchen to find a cloth to wipe up the coffee. It wasn't as though Dante would notice it, or care even if he did, but Nero wasn't one to mess up someone else's home, even if said home was a rickety shop in a seedy neighbourhood. He cleaned up the spilt coffee, tossed the rag towards the trash can, and finally looked at the paper Lady had given him.

The huntress' stark, impatient handwriting filled the page. She'd clearly been on the phone with someone, taking notes. A contact's name, number, and address were neatly organized at the top, but underneath Lady's personality revealed itself. She'd only copied down what she'd found pertinent: that four people were missing, seven others were found dead, and that human interference was suspected. She'd underlined the last part four times. Nero smirked. Lady could sound bitchy even on paper.

"What are you grinning about, kid?" Dante wandered down the stairs, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. He carried his red trench coat slung over one arm, his holstered guns over the other. His white hair was damp and plastered to his forehead. The hunter watched Nero with his icy-blue eyes, smiling smugly at the teen.

"I'm psychoanalyzing Lady's handwriting." Nero grabbed a stool from the bar and dragged it towards Dante's desk, not even bothering to lift it. Dante's furniture was a collection of mismatched pieces; Nero was positive that the slayer had probably scavenged them all from the curb side. A few more chips out of its legs wouldn't hurt the barstool.

"And is your conclusion that she's a crazy bitch?" Dante continued, walking closer. He yawned loudly, scratching at his chest.

"Something like that. Here." Nero tried to hand him the paper.

Dante avoided him nimbly, looking affronted. He flicked his snowy hair out of his eyes, hanging his coat on the back of his chair and carefully setting his guns on the desk. "Not before breakfast."

"Lady says it'll take planning." Nero tossed the paper on the scratched desktop surface, ignoring the gagging sound Dante made. "And shouldn't you just call it like it is? Breakfast was like, five hours ago."

"What planet are you from, kid? Anything accomplished before noon is just wasted effort."

Nero threw Dante a sour look, but the elder slayer was already in the kitchen, sorting through the leftovers like a buzzard would pick at a carcass. When he finally reappeared, carrying a couple slices of three-day-old pizza and half a carton of strawberries, Nero was seated on the stool, checking the customizations on Blue Rose. The gun was perfect, utterly flawless. Nero polished it until it gleamed with an unholy light. He held it up to check the finish, catching his own reflection splayed out along the barrel, along with a second image of Dante, watching him.

"You creeping me, old man?"

"Hey, it's been a slow week. I gotta get my kicks somehow." Dante dumped the food on his desk and threw himself down into his protesting chair. He began yanking open drawers one by one, muttering under his breath.

"If you think Lady's crazy, maybe you should try listening to yourself." Nero finished with Blue Rose and got up to fetch the Red Queen. The sword rested on a rack on the crowded wall, tucked in beside a Bloodgoat skull and Agni and Rudra. Nevan, Dante's possessed guitar, hummed affectionately at him as he passed by her.

"Shut it, kid," Dante mumbled, almost under the desk.

"What are you looking for, exactly?" Nero collected his sword and a jug of fuel, carrying them back towards the hunter. Dante appeared to be trying to climb into his desk. Nero shook his head sadly and sat back down, taking a penknife from his pocket to work on the Red Queen.

"Aha! Found it."

"What, a long-lost stash of porn? Mouldy pizza? Lady's panties?" Nero was focused on his sword, carefully opening the fuel-injection system. He neatly unscrewed the plates that shielded the complex customizations, revealing an intricate network of miniscule pipes, all filled with highly flammable chemicals. How the Order had ever managed to balance these swords was beyond him. Nero added fuel where needed and swiftly replaced all the plates, leaving the Red Queen looking once more like a blade, and not a machine. The teen glanced up from his work in time to see Dante clamber back into his chair, holding a small box victoriously.

"They're whetstones, jackass. You know, for sharpening things."

"No shit, Dante," the teen muttered. "Is that what a whetstone's for?" He tested the sword's edge; it bit into his fingertips but not as cleanly as he would've liked. "I need one."

"I'll think about it." Dante set the box aside and started devouring the strawberries. Ignoring both Nero and the note from Lady, he found an old magazine and started to read, humming under his breath. Nero made a grab for the box but Dante was faster, as always. The elder slayer backhanded the box off the desk, sending the whetstones skittering across the floor.

"What the fuck, old man?" Nero glared at the hunter.

Dante grinned. "I said, I'll think about it."

This was the kind of behaviour that confused the hell out of Nero. Dante was being nice to him, too nice, in his own, round-about, pretending-not-to-be-nice sort of way. Dante didn't own _any_ weapons that needed sharpening; none of his swords were human-made. And hadn't Nero asked him, weeks ago, where he could buy a set of whetstones and files? _You are the strangest person I've ever met, _the Ex-Knight thought, and launched himself over the desk at Dante.

* * *

"Way to ruin my breakfast, kid. Promise me you won't try to trash anything else and I'll let you up. I've got enough bills to pay without you adding to them." The voice, Dante's voice, came from somewhere above him. There was a heavy weight on his back, pressing him onto the agency's rough plank floor. Nero's ears were ringing like he'd taken a hard hit to the head, and when he opened his eyes it took a second for the red at the edges of his vision to clear. He was facedown behind the overturned desk. As far as he could tell, Dante was sitting on him.

"Get off, lardass. You're crushing me."

The hunter snorted. "That sounds more like you. Tell me, what just happened?"

"What do you mean? I was gonna introduce your face to the desk a few times 'cause you were being a jerk. Did I manage?" Nero squirmed to look at Dante.

"Uh... no. Good try, though."

"Were you going to get off me?" The claws of Nero's devilbringer twitched, scraping at the floor. Dante chuckled and shifted a bit so he was out of range of the younger man's talons.

"Naw, you're pretty comfy, actually. And you haven't explained yourself yet."

"What's there to explain? I just told you. Next time don't hit me on the head so hard if you want me to remember anything." Nero was well aware that he sounded petulant, but it was also getting harder to breathe.

"Alright, so here's the deal. You may have jumped at me just for fun, but you lost it entirely a couple seconds later. No control at all, like you weren't even conscious. You didn't trigger, and you didn't go for your weapons. And if you don't remember any of it, then it's almost like you had a psychotic episode. And that's especially not good for someone who's as good at slaughtering things as you."

"Aw, was that a compliment? It's not like I haven't tried to kill you before, old man."

Dante smacked the teen's face into the floor in an almost playful gesture. "I mean it, kid."

"Yeah, yeah. Get off me."

Dante stood up gracefully, reaching down to grab Nero's demonic arm and haul him to his feet as well. The teen staggered a bit, the room sliding in and out of focus. The back of his head throbbed with pain in time to the pulse of his vision.

"Did you pistol-whip me?" He demanded abruptly.

Dante paused. "... no."

"Bullshit, I bet-" Nero's sight cleared, and he got a good look at the shop. "Damn. Dante, I didn't mean to-"

"It's looked worse. Don't worry about it." Dante flipped the desk upright and kicked the splintered remains of the stool and chair towards to front door. He found the flask of holy water and his guns and returned them to the desktop. Half the weapons had been knocked down from their shelves and were scattered on the floor, glittering and hissing in displeasure. The pool table was flipped completely over, and glass from the television was everywhere Nero looked.

Nero rubbed the back of his neck, increasingly aware that he had a roof over his head only because Dante had taken him in. "Sorry," he muttered awkwardly, moving to help clean up. Dante didn't seem too pissed off, but it was hard to tell with him. The Ex-Knight glanced around at the devastation surrounding him, confused as hell. _What is happening to me?_

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Comments, corrections, and criticisms are appreciated.


	3. Souls that are Lost

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Implied Dante x Lady, eventual Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I don't own DMC or any of its characters. I do, however, drink too much.

Chapter titles are from Dante Alighieri's _Divine Comedy_ as translated by Lawrence Grant White. Most will be from the inscription written above the Gate to Hell, although probably out of order and changed to fit my purposes, lol.

Thank you to the people who reviewed! Drinks all 'round. :D

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Chapter Three: Souls that are Lost

It seemed to Nero that he wasn't the only one acting strangely in the Devil May Cry office. Dante was behaving a bit oddly, as well. Or well, odder, if that were possible. Dante's normal persona, that of a nonchalantly cheerful, bloodthirsty pervert, was still present. He still guzzled beer, devoured pizza, and propositioned Lady. He still made games out of carnage and slaughter. He still failed miserably at poker and pool. In fact, Nero decided, Dante was only behaving differently towards him, and it showed up in two separate ways.

The first was the way Dante looked at him. Nero often caught the slayer watching him. This wasn't especially out of the ordinary; creeping him seemed to be a hobby of the older man's. It was just that now, Dante was looking at him the same way the elder hunter gazed at Lady: the 'say the word and I'll fuck you senseless on top of my desk' look. It was concerning, to say the least, but Nero was willing to admit that maybe it had been there all along, and he'd just been oblivious. Dante was simply being nice to him. Sure.

The second, and slightly more disconcerting (if that were possible) change was that Dante had tried talking to him. An actual, meaningful conversation, or rather, the closest approximation to one that either of the two hunters could manage. In which Dante finally asked Nero why he was here, with him, instead of living the good life in balmy Fortuna. And in which Nero, wracking his brain, honestly couldn't remember, and instead of saying so had told Dante to go fuck himself.

Dante hadn't pressed the matter, guessing that the subject was touchy, and a week had passed. The elder slayer fixed the TV, found (read: scavenged) some new chairs and barstools, and for the most part, kept himself from harassing Nero overtly. Except for the watching part: he didn't let the teen out of his sight. It was beginning to drive Nero nuts, but there was too much work to be done for him to take time to have it out with Dante. Clearing out the usual infestations of bottomfeeders kept them busy, and with Lady occupied planning the major mission, Nero and Dante got all of her normal workload as well. Not that they'd ever get paid for it.

Dante had tried to protest this once on Nero's behalf, stating that just because he himself was in debt and basically slave labour, didn't mean the kid was too. Lady had simply grinned in response, reminding Dante that Nero sometimes paid rent money to him, and that the money eventually got to her anyway, so why not just cut out the middleman. Dante had then suggested that Nero would be better off finding a non-monetary method of paying rent. Nero hadn't heard the rest of the argument, as he'd choked on the beer he'd been drinking and had to leave the room.

_Filthy pervert_, the teen thought, remembering the incident. Said pervert was uncomfortably close to him, in the driver's seat of the red convertible. He and Dante were heading home from another of Lady's _pro bono_ jobs; a dreary afternoon spent hacking Hell Prides and Assaults in a parking lot behind an elementary school. It had been fun, make no mistake, but knowing that the couple grand they'd been paid was heading straight for Lady's purse kind of sucked the joy out of it. Nero felt drained as his adrenaline rush faded away. He yawned and settled back into his seat, feeling, rather than seeing, Dante's gaze flick over him.

Nero ignored him, turning away to look out the window. Capulet City's dull buildings and filthy streets swept past like a faded sepia-toned filmstrip. The sky was darkening, and a light rain began to fall. This place was misery incarnate, Nero decided, watching a few homeless men build shelters out of cardboard boxes and old woollen blankets. He glanced at the looming tower on the horizon, and of course Dante saw him do that too.

"Temen-ni-gru," the hunter offered.

"What?" Nero forgot himself and looked at Dante.

"The name of the tower," the man continued, brushing his white hair out of his eyes. "I don't recommend visiting. It's pretty much a failure as a tourist attraction."

"This city gets tourists?" Nero was incredulous. The place was a shit hole.

"C'mon, kid. I know you're homesick, but this place isn't that bad. Except for, you know, the area where we live." Dante removed both gloved hands from the steering wheel to gesture expressively at their surroundings. Crumbling tenement apartments lined both sides of the street, their monotony broken only by an occasional bar.

"It's a slum, Dante."

"It's had a rough go of it. Thousands were killed when that tower went up. People don't really want to move back after something like that."

"No shit, old man." A pause. "And I'm not homesick."

Dante laughed. "Whatever you say, kid."

Nero ignored him again for the rest of the trip back to the office. The pair unloaded their gear in silence, Dante seemingly lost in thought as he pulled the Beowulf gauntlets from the trunk. Nero followed the elder hunter inside, intending to put his weapons away carefully and therefore forfeiting the race to get to the shower first. Dante had dropped the gauntlets and Rebellion on the couch and sprinted up the stairs, turned at the top to smirk down victoriously at Nero, and realized suddenly that Nero hadn't even tried to beat him to the shower.

"You're no fun," he muttered, grabbing a towel and disappearing into the bathroom.

"Not everything's a contest, old man," Nero yelled after him. He checked Blue Rose and the Red Queen carefully, making sure all the mechanisms were still running smoothly. He'd sharpened the blade the day before, having eventually found the whetstones that Dante had 'provided.' Nero set the sword carefully in her place on the wall, and turned to attend to his revolver. He really needed another gun; maybe a more modern pistol like Ebony or Ivory. Nero made a mental note to ask Dante or Lady about it, and started to check the clips on Blue Rose. The teen had just finished when Dante reappeared, dressed in clean clothes.

"She's all yours, kid." He called, leaping down the stairs in one go and heading for the kitchen.

"I'm not sure I want anything that you had first, old man." Nero heard Dante laugh in response. He wandered upstairs to the shower, hoping the older slayer had left him some hot water.

* * *

"Um... What the fuck, old man?" The sensation of Dante's clothed body pressed hard against his own naked one sent pleasurable shivers up Nero's spine. But he'd be damned before he'd admit that to Dante. The hunter above him shifted his weight and Nero bit his lip to keep from moaning. His body was acting strangely, hypersensitive to touch. Dante was impossibly warm against him, and Nero fought the urge to simply relax and see where this went. Conversely, Dante's husky voice was anything but seductive. If he had to guess, he'd say the elder slayer was intensely pissed off or deeply concerned, or both.

"I could ask you the same thing, kid," he growled, moving to pin both of Nero's hands in a viselike grip and planting a knee firmly on the teen's solar plexus. Nero gasped, trying to make sense of the situation. Dante was on top of him again, but that wasn't really surprising, as it seemed like he'd take any opportunity to do so. What was strange was that he was flat on his back in the upstairs hallway, naked and soaking wet, with no recollection of how he'd gotten there.

"I dunno," he mumbled. "Was I sleepwalking... in the shower?"

Dante stared down at him coldly for a moment, then relaxed a bit. He didn't relinquish his hold on Nero, though. "You don't remember, do you?"

"What do you think, genius?" Nero spat. Dante kneed him in the gut in retaliation.

"I stuck my head into the bathroom to ask what toppings you wanted on the pizza, and you stepped out of the shower and jumped me." Dante couldn't keep from smirking just a little. "It was hot, I'll admit-" Nero blushed bright red and Dante continued, "but you were out of your mind. Like last week, when you trashed the shop. So, I want some answers. You're not getting out of it this time."

"Laying down the law, huh old man?" Nero squirmed uncomfortably, painfully aware of his nakedness. "Get off."

"Not till you explain a few things. Why are you here, and not in Fortuna?"

"Maybe I missed you."

"I'm not joking, Nero." That caught his attention; the use of his name meant Dante was serious. He tried to come up with a suitable explanation, but it was hopeless. His skin ached where the hunter touched him, a slow burn that was starting to spread all the way through him. Nero decided he was probably going crazy; his mind seemed to be blanketed with fog. Dante's ice-blue eyes watched him with concern.

"I don't know," he stated finally, unable to look at Dante. "I know I can't ever go back, but I don't know why. I can't remember, I guess."

"You guess?"

"I don't understand what's happening to me. I remember traveling here, but not why I decided to, okay?" Nero snarled and struggled against Dante's grip, but the slayer was too strong. Dante's expression was thoughtful; if anything, he held onto the teen tighter.

"And your memory in general is...?"

"Alright for the most part."

"Except when you're rampaging?"

Nero glared up at the older man. His body seemed to be pulling warmth from Dante's. The teen had a sensation of becoming feverish: burning up and getting chilled at the same time.

"That's a yes, then? Interesting."

"That's not how I'd describe it, jackass." Nero's temper reared up, nearly out of control. "Get off me. Go bother Lady, or something."

Dante smirked a bit, his concern slipping away. He moved so that he was straddling Nero's waist and switched his hold to one hand, gesticulating almost playfully. "So what, you don't want to talk? You've accepted this? That sometimes you'll just be a crazy person? You're okay with it?"

"Fuck off, Dante. You know what I meant."

"And how 'bout your reaction this time: when your brain finally came back from wherever it had wandered off to, your nerves were so overwrought that you're hypersensitive to touch. Look." Dante let the fingertips of his free hand caress down Nero's chest, pausing to tweak a nipple before sliding over his taut stomach.

Nero drew in a gasping, hitching breath, unable to keep from arching into Dante's touch but managing to suppress the groan that threatened to escape his lips. His heart-rate accelerated immediately, and everywhere the slayer touched him it felt like fire. The teen's demonic arm glowed brightly, doubly sensitive. Nero was utterly mortified.

Dante watched his reaction with a pleased grin. "Neat, huh?"

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Comments are appreciated. :D


	4. Justice Impelled

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Implied Dante x Lady, eventual Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters.

Hopefully this isn't too confusing. Nero is dreaming and thinking for the first bit. Oh, and I think of Kyrie as being much more Nero's sister and friend than love-interest. Eww... :D

* * *

Chapter Four: Justice Impelled

Nero hadn't dreamed in _years_. At least, not that he remembered. He was a restless sleeper, easily awakened; the kind that could sit up at any hour of the night and instantly be alert and ready for action. Unlike Dante, who presumably could sleep through a demonic apocalypse and a half, Nero was jolted awake by the slightest out-of-place sound, the faintest whisper. It made living with other people a pain in the ass, and the ex-Knight often wore his headphones to bed so he wouldn't wake up if Dante decided he needed pizza at 3 AM. Nero never slept well, but he did sleep, slipping from consciousness into a shallow, grey-coloured, dreamless lull.

Which was why he was startled to find himself wandering the streets of Fortuna when, moments before, he'd dragged his exhausted, traitorous body into his own bed. Yes, his _own _bed, despite Dante's playful ministrations. Nero couldn't say that he himself wasn't interested, he just had other things to deal with at the moment. Like going crazy. And anyways, half the time Dante was trying to look up Lady's skirt instead of paying any attention at all to Nero. The teen had the impression that the half-devil was just playing them both, waiting to see who would give-in to him first. Well, first _after _the steady parade of gorgeous, giggling women (and a few men, who were also gorgeous, if less giggly) that wandered through Dante's bedroom. Nero was certain that Lady found Dante's hook-ups to be as tedious as he did.

Nero fell asleep, mentally cursing Dante for his inability to keep his hands to himself, and suddenly stumbled into a dream. Fortuna was much like he'd last seen it; a gorgeous marble complex filled with battered architectural marvels. All of the fires had been put out, the rubble was mostly cleaned up, and the rebuilding was well underway. Knights and soldiers from the former Order guarded the townsfolk as they re-constructed the beautiful city, carefully crafting homes and businesses, bridges and roads. The smell of smoke and death had been washed away by a recent rainfall. Now the breeze contained its characteristic scent of the roses that still grew everywhere, and the tang of salt from the nearby sea.

Nero inhaled deeply, nostalgia washing over him. As much as its inhabitants had looked askance at him, Fortuna was Home. The natural landscape of the island itself was lovely in a way that caused one to take notice, pay attention, and look deeper. The interplay between earth and sea and sky filled him with the closest approximation to inner peace that he'd ever experienced outside of a violent, blood-soaked gore-fest. And that, for him, was saying something.

The teen's dream-self began walking up the street, heading away from the business district. Nero had both the Red Queen and Blue Rose with him, so he figured he must be on patrol. He'd spent most of the weeks following the fall of the Saviour much like this, wandering Fortuna in search of demons. Remnants of the flocks of Mephistos that had been released from the Hell Gate were still scattered about, as well as a few Assaults on the edges of the castle-town. He was probably heading out to destroy whatever was left of those.

It was just past midsummer and the weather was glorious: deep blue skies with huge, white clouds, the sun sparkling off the turquoise water. Nero wandered through the dockyards, dodging fishermen and half-wild children, ignoring the occasional frowns he received. For the most part, he was treated better than he had been before. For the most part, he was left alone. And when he wasn't, well, then he'd just set Kyrie on them, and enjoy the confusion as a sweet-tempered opera singer became a crazed, raging bitch. In all honesty, Nero had often wondered why Credo hadn't drafted Kyrie into the Knighthood as well. The late General's little sister was definitely up for it, despite appearances.

The dream-Nero smirked at the affectionate memory and left the dockyards, entering the tunnels that led to the island's mines. He didn't spend much time within them, as several patrols scoured the passageways daily, keeping them clear of demons so the miners could work safely. He opened the gate out of the last tunnel and found himself in the Ferrous Hills, the air colder with the increase in elevation.

Almost instantly he was attacked by an Alto Angelo, a possessed, animated suit of the Knighthood's armour. He'd thought that the last of these would disappear with the fall of the Saviour, but he'd guessed wrong. It didn't matter much though. Nero drew the Red Queen and rolled out of the way of the first slash, leapt up to parry the second, and destroyed the Alto's shield with a hard smash from his devilbringer. After that, it was easy to slide away from the sword attacks and swoop back in to land hits with the Red Queen. Nero revved the blade, dodged one final attack from the demonic armour, and swiftly decapitated the suit. It fizzled away into the atmosphere with a shower of sparks.

Nero's dream-self re-sheathed the weapon and stretched lazily. His day was just getting started. Three more suits appeared, with two others close behind them. The first three launched themselves at Nero, and he shot one from the sky with Blue Rose. The fight that followed was swift and brutal, a confused brawl of shining armour and glittering steel. Nero thought for a second than maybe the Altos were distracted by something; he was certain that in the flurry of attacks, the suits were hitting each other as well as him. _Stupid demons_, he thought, slicing open another set of armour.

Blood gushed along the Red Queen's edge, but the fact didn't register in Nero's mind. He let the adrenaline in his veins carry him in a streak towards the next suit, ducking under a clumsy thrust and slashing downward with all of his considerable strength. It crumpled under the force of the hit, and Nero easily spun around to plunge the blade into the next Alto. It hissed and dissolved into sparkling dust. The Knight grabbed the final suit with his devilbringer, flipping it over and finishing it with a double kick to the face.

When nothing offered a further fight, he stopped, only a little out of breath. It took a moment for the haze of bloodlust to fade from his system, but when it did he looked around him, horrified. Three of the Altos had vanished, as was proper for demonically-possessed suits of armour, but two remained, blood seeping onto the earth beneath them. _Shit_. Nero rushed forward, grabbing the closest helmet and tugging it off as gently as he could. There was a young man inside, a fellow Knight. Nero didn't know his name, but he remembered once seeing the man take on a pack of Frosts by himself, not waiting for back-up. Nero's human hand slid to the man's throat, checking for a pulse. Nothing. The Knight was dead.

Cursing under his breath and nearly in tears, the teen turned to the other suit and carefully removed its helm. A pained groan greeted him, and this sign of life almost filled Nero with relief, until the man inside drew a rattling breath. His lungs were obviously filling up with blood; crimson liquid flecking his lips.

"I'm sorry," Nero murmured, the apology sounding inauthentic and barely adequate even to his own ears. The man, sporting a greying moustache, turned his head at the sound of his voice. He didn't know this Knight's name, either. The fallen man said nothing in response, merely looked blankly at Nero for a second. He died a moment later, brown eyes staring sightlessly at the shaken teen.

Nero lost track of time, letting the world swirl drunkenly around him. When the youth finally looked up from the scene of carnage before him, he found himself in a barren cell. Sunlight streamed through the barred window, shining on a dirty cot and flagstone floor. Nero sat cross-legged by the cell door, waiting for something. He didn't know what he was waiting for. All he could see was blood.

* * *

Nero hit the floor hard, tangled in his bed sheets. He fought the urge to throw-up, tugging off the sweat-slicked blankets and tossing them away from him. He staggered to his feet, looking desperately out the window at the night sky. The fact that there were no bars on the window calmed him immensely. Orange light from streetlamp outside lit the room, and a few cars drove by, radios blaring. His heart-rate gradually slowed down, only to jump again a moment later as Dante burst into the room.

"Alright kid?" The tall half-devil's eyes swept up Nero's lean frame. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was checking the teen out. When Nero glared at him, Dante continued. "I heard a crash. Thought I'd better come up here and see if my furniture was okay." Dante's gaze took in the mess of sheets on the floor and the boxer-clad youth before him. "You weren't doing anything weird and crazy-like to the bed, were you?"

"What do you think, dumbass?" Nero managed to gather his wits but not his dignity. "I had a dream."

Dante snorted in amusement, leering at the younger slayer. "You did, did ya? Must have been pretty awesome to get you all sweaty like that," he laughed.

Nero blushed despite himself. He knew Dante would be able to see it, even with the light in the room being as dim as it was. The older man's demonic senses were much sharper than his own. He turned away, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was only 10PM. The teen heaved a sigh and grabbed a pair of jeans to put on. Dante's presence made him feel both better and worse at the same time, but at least the old pervert talked so much that it made it difficult to think about the dream. _Heh, finally, Dante's inability to shut-up put to good use._

"C'mon downstairs and get some supper," Dante ordered, heading for the door. "Why'd you run off to bed so early anyway? Being crazy got you down, or something?"

"And anyways, that bitch is nuts if she thinks I'm gonna go back in that tower." Two hours and at least eight beers later, Dante was still rambling on. Nero sat beside him on the battered sofa, flicking through the television's three working channels, and half-listening to the older man. It seemed that the major mission that Lady had accepted on their behalf a week ago involved the Temen-ni-gru, and Dante had only realized this a few hours ago. Nero sighed and took a sip of the beer he'd been nursing for the last half-hour.

"Why is that?" The teen asked, feeling like he should remind Dante every once in a while that yes, he was still here. It probably didn't matter; the half-devil might've kept talking anyway. It was a little past midnight, and although the dream had mostly faded from his mind, Nero was still a bit uneasy. His question was apparently the wrong thing to ask, though. Dante stopped speaking, and worse, turned to study Nero with surprising intensity.

Unsure of what to do, the teen started to get up, planning to escape the awkwardness and get a fresh beer. Dante stopped him, one hand on Nero's human shoulder, a strange expression on his face. He started to say something, paused, then seemed to change his mind completely. A moment later, Dante was his usual self again. Nero firmly removed the man's other hand from his knee. Dante replaced it almost instantly.

"I thought we'd discussed personal space, old man." Nero felt himself beginning to blush. Damn Dante for being so persistent. The older man released his shoulder, only to slide his arm behind Nero and pull him closer. The teen wished he'd put on a shirt before coming downstairs. At least Dante was fully dressed, for once.

"I could make you feel better," he whispered huskily, his voice warm in Nero's ear.

"You could make a lot of people feel better. I'm sure you do. So go help them. Stop groping me." Nero almost yelped as he felt a hot tongue lick up his throat.

"You're awfully cranky for someone so young. Even worse than Lady, sometimes." Dante murmured, teeth grazing Nero's collarbone.

The teen struggled to catch hold of Dante's roaming hands. "So go try and seduce her. You're always watching her, anyway." Nero hadn't realized his breath had quickened. He felt Dante's lips quirk into a smile against his shoulder.

"And I always will, kid. Get used to it. I haven't wanted to lose sight of that firecracker since she fell out of the sky and shot me in the head."

Nero snorted. "How romantic." He managed to snag one of the Dante's hands in his devilbringer, preventing the other hunter from rubbing his lower back. Dante freed himself from the hold without having to look up from Nero's neck, his warm, calloused hands gently exploring the teen's lithe frame.

"I've known her for years, ever since, well... A long time, I guess." Dante began. Nero was certain he might've said more, but had censored himself once again. _I didn't even know such a thing was possible. Dante actually sometimes thinks before he speaks. Even when half-drunk. That's freaking amazing_, the teen thought.

"What is?" Dante asked, and Nero realized he'd muttered the last of his thought out loud. He gasped as the slayer's teeth found a particularly sensitive place on his clavicle.

"Nothing flattering, if that's what you're wondering, old man." Nero growled sleepily, figuring he should get away from Dante before he was too tired to bother. "Hands off." He gripped Dante's shoulders firmly and attempted to push the stronger man away. Dante laughed and let him.

"Fine. You win, kid. I'm going to bed. If you want any company, you know where to find me."

"You wish, geezer." Nero called after the departing man. The shop became quiet except for the flickering television. Nero relaxed for a while, but without Dante to distract him, images from the dream returned. Dead, staring eyes. Blood-soaked earth. Knights he should have worked with, protected even, killed by his own hands. It made him feel sick to his stomach. Irritated, Nero turned off the television and headed upstairs.

* * *

Comments, corrections, and criticisms are appreciated. Please review; I'm totally into positive psychological reinforcement, lol.


	5. Power

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Implied Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause if I did I'd fix Lady's boobs and give her back her scars. (Yeah, wtf DMC4?) Oh, and there'd be more swearing, lol.

Thank you everyone who reviewed or added this to alerts/faves! Much appreciated. Feedback is awesome. :)

* * *

Chapter Five: Power

Nero couldn't sleep. He'd remade his bed a couple of times, flipped the pillow, and ran through a half-dozen stretching exercises. It was only a little after one in the morning. His brain would not turn off and rest. The more he thought about the dream, the more real it seemed. Had it actually happened? Surely he'd remember if he was a murderer, wouldn't he? It wasn't exactly something you could just forget about and move on from. Every piece of violence he'd ever committed he remembered clearly, from schoolyard fistfights and the first Imp that Credo had trained him on to the defeat of powerful demons like Berial and Echidna.

Except, of course, for his recent rampages. He couldn't find anything when he tried to recall them, his memories skipped and frizzled over the time. The gaps were successively longer as well. A few seconds in front of Lady, maybe ten minutes the first time he'd attacked Dante. Nero blushed to think of how long he could've been naked the second time he'd lost it around the older slayer. It was bizarre to be missing memories, but far stranger to be suddenly dreaming when he'd never done so before. Unless the two were compensating for each other, Nero mused, sitting up on the bed. Forget one thing, remember another? _So what if it was a memory, and not a dream at all?_

That wasn't exactly something he wanted to contemplate. It was much better to think that he'd just finally had a dream after nineteen years. Not that he'd killed a couple men and then forgot about it. Somehow. And if he'd been arrested for it, as the dream suggested, he should be dead. Fortuna's laws were harsh and enforced with military efficiency. There would've been a review of the evidence against him, and then he'd be dragged out behind the Headquarters' maintenance sheds and executed by firing squad. Not a great end to his career, but not a mystery either.

Frustrated and uneasy, Nero gave up on sleeping and got dressed. He figured that if nothing else, he could wander the accursed city for a while. He honestly didn't want to try to watch any more awful television. The ex-Knight padded softly down the stairs, boots tucked under his arm and Blue Rose holstered by his side. He ducked into the kitchen for a drink before he left, and ran smack into Dante, who'd apparently been thirsty as well. It was like hitting a brick wall. Nero was knocked back a step, but Dante simply lifted his beer a bit so it wouldn't spill.

"How's crazy-pants?" The older slayer grinned, taking a sip. "An insomniac now too, huh?"

"Fuck off, Dante. I'm just after a drink of water." Nero brushed past the taller man and went to the cupboard for a glass. He realized immediately that he shouldn't have turned his back on Dante, especially when the slayer had been drinking steadily for several hours. What few inhibitions Dante had flew right out the window after a half-dozen drinks. Unfortunately, by the time he'd processed this thought, Dante was right behind him, pressing him against the counter.

"I realize it's difficult, and against your nature, but could you please try to _not_ be a pervert for five minutes?" Nero growled, reaching to turn on the sink. He resisted the urge to grab and crush the other's face with his devilbringer and leaned to fill up his glass. Dante followed, his muscled frame warming Nero through his clothes. He buried his face in Nero's shoulder and started to mouth any exposed flesh. The teen ignored the older slayer and drank the cold tap-water in silence. He had more important things to think about than Dante's weird advances.

Nero set the glass aside and managed to push himself far enough away from the counter that he was able to turn around. Unfortunately, Dante seemed thrilled by this turn of events. The hunter pulled him closer, his hands moving to touch Nero's face. The teen was not impressed. He felt himself blush in a mixture of embarrassment and anger, pushing Dante's hands away. Hadn't the man mauled him enough for one day already?

"I know you don't really listen to anything I say, especially when you're drunk, but I'll warn you anyway. Touch me again and I'll break your face." Nero waited for a response, wondering if the half-devil had even heard him. Dante's eyes were heavy-lidded; he gave no indication that he was listening to the youth. When Dante reached for him again, hands sliding down over his hips, Nero hauled back and punched him.

Or tried to. Even drunk, Dante still had excellent reflexes. He stopped Nero's fist from meeting his jaw, and stepped back to keep the teen's knee from connecting with anything vital. He easily blocked the onslaught of hooks and jabs, deflecting punches and avoiding getting kicked. And until he 'accidently' threw Nero back into the cupboard with a resounding crash of glassware, they hadn't even broken anything in the enclosed space.

Dante pounced on the fallen teen at once, a victorious gleam twinkling in his blue eyes. "Gotcha!" he laughed, landing with all his weight on Nero. The ex-Knight gasped in pain, vowing to dump out all the alcohol in the office. Tomorrow he was going to smash the bottles into the sink and make the hunter watch him do it, and all the better if he was suffering a hangover. Dante was a ridiculous asshole when drunk, forgetting how easily he could damage other people. Nero took another swing at the slayer, knowing it probably wouldn't connect but too pissed off to resist the attempt.

"Get off," he growled, shoving against Dante's chest. "This isn't funny anymore."

"You can't win a fight with me," the slayer declared, tugging Nero's claws out of his skin. He smirked down at the panting teen, watching Nero struggle.

"Damnit, I shouldn't have to," the teen glared at him, trying to keep his emotions under control. Nero had had enough of this. Didn't the old man care what was happening to him? Or was he only interested in whether or not he still might be able to get into Nero's pants? "Let me up, asshole," Nero muttered, prodding at the man with his talons.

Nero's discomfort must've shown on his face, because Dante seemed to understand him this time, or at least choose not to ignore him. The hunter's grin faltered a little as he moved away from the youth, scratching at his head in puzzlement. He nimbly rolled back onto his toes, crouching beside Nero with admirable balance for a drunkard. "What's wrong, kid?" he asked, his words only slightly slurred.

Nero didn't reply. He climbed to his feet and stalked out of the kitchen, pausing only to pick up his fallen boots and Blue Rose. Moments later he was out the door.

* * *

The night, or rather, early morning sky of Capulet City was a dark, gloomy haze. Nero decided it suited his mood perfectly. He headed up the sidewalk, dodging sodden newspapers and old tin cans. The wind picked up a bit, and its chill seeped through his hoodie. The youth tucked Blue Rose into his belt and put the breeze to his back, passively following the directions of its gusts. He was maybe crazy, and maybe a murderer, and obviously an object of Dante's lust. His life, which he'd thought had turned around some since he'd arrived at Devil May Cry, seemed to be going down the shitter.

Nero walked at least four blocks at a good clip before Dante caught up to him. The cold air was apparently killing the older hunter's buzz, and the tall man looked painfully sober as he jogged up beside the teen. Nero glowered at the intrusion, refusing to look at Dante. The hunter had hastily pulled on an old pair of combat boots, and his trademark red trench coat was wrapped around his muscular frame. He shoved his hands deep into its pockets and gazed at Nero, who scowled.

"Can't keep your eyes off me, huh old man?"

Dante seemed pleased that Nero was willing to talk. "Well, it's unethical to let crazies wander around alone. Especially armed. Public safety issues, and all that," he joked, trying to get Nero to crack a smile. If anything, his comments had made the teen's frown deepen. Nero walked faster, but Dante simply lengthened his stride a bit to catch up to him. He reached for Nero's shoulder, but the youth slipped out of his grasp and changed direction, heading into an alleyway at random.

"C'mon, kid, why are you actin' like this?" Dante allowed Nero to get a few steps ahead, letting him have his space. The alley was quite dark, but Dante's demonic vision helped him to pick out the lines and edges of it, and its inhabitants. A couple of homeless children huddled on the back doorsteps of a bar, almost completely enveloped in blankets. Dante would've missed them except for the warm infrared outline of their bodies against the cold cement. He emptied all the cash in his pockets as he went past them, hurrying after Nero.

The ex-Knight chose streets at random, not paying attention to where he was going. There was little traffic around here this early in the morning; people were still afraid of these neighbourhoods. Dante caught up to him again, managing to keep himself quiet this time. He watched Nero out of the corner of his eye. The teen looked exhausted and unhappy, and anything that Dante said or did just seemed to make it worse. The slayer noticed their location and sighed, drawing Nero's attention back to him.

"What?" The teen snapped, the words sounding snarkier than he'd intended. Dante stopped walking and pointed up ahead. Nero followed the direction of his gaze and came to a halt. Temen-ni-gru rose jaggedly not five blocks away, the crooked spires of the tower darker than the murky sky behind it. Everything about it spoke malevolence; a brooding momument to a fallen world. Nero was certain he saw lights flicker near the top, but when he looked again there was nothing.

"Is that where you were headed?" Dante asked, his voice quiet, and to Nero's ears, cold.

"Huh? No. I was just wandering. Why?" Nero didn't look away from the tower. To do so seemed foolish, like turning your back on an enemy and then wondering how they'd surprised you. Buildings had collapsed in a ring outwards from the base of the monstrosity, and rusted-out cars lay flipped on their sides or buried in rubble. The destructive force of this place was incredible, Nero thought. Debris was still scattered for entire city blocks; no one had dared to come clean it up.

The youth finally spared Dante a glance, still uneasy about the looming edifice. The slayer's hands were clenched into fists, and his jaw was set tensely. Dante was watching him carefully, his expression wary. Nero didn't like it.

"It's nothing," Dante said hurriedly, heaving a sigh. He seemed to be satisfied with Nero's answer. "It's just not a good place to seek out." Dante turned to leave. Nero didn't fail to notice the effect this place had on the slayer. He grabbed Dante's arm in his devilbringer, holding him fast.

"It's something. This place bothers you, I can tell that much."

"It should bother you too, kid. The tower's evil incarnate." Dante's gaze took in the Temen-ni-gru for a moment before he looked away once more.

Nero waited, but Dante didn't offer any further information, seemingly lost in thought. He was oblivious to Nero's presence, which didn't happen often, except when Lady was around and in a good mood. The teen tugged on the sleeve of Dante's red coat, trying to regain his attention. The hunter looked at him suddenly, almost a bit startled that Nero was still beside him. The freezing wind turned moist, and sleet began to slice down in sheets. Dante shivered and tried to fix his trench.

"Let's get out of here, kid. I want to get a few hours of sleep before Lady dumps more shit jobs on me." The slayer started to turn again, but Nero had his claws in his coat and his feet braced.

"C'mon, Dante. Tell me." Nero rarely called the hunter by name, mostly as payback for constantly being referred to as 'kid.' It was useful to use once in a while though, the novelty of it making Dante take notice. The slayer's frosty eyes appraised him, knowing Nero's trick.

"It's none of your business." The hunter pulled away, lazily trying to get out of Nero's clutches.

"Lady's got a mission for us inside of it. I think it is my business." Nero felt his anger, almost soothed by the walk, start to return. It was one thing to be lacking information, he knew how that felt, but it was another thing altogether to be deliberately kept in the dark. He'd been deceived by too many people in his life; he wasn't about to let Dante start trying it too.

"Then she'll tell you everything you need to know." Dante managed to unhook the devilbringer's talons before they shredded his arm, and roughly shoved Nero away from him.

"Including why you're scared of it?" Nero spat, deciding to push his luck. He'd already been mauled and smashed into a cupboard in the past hour; he didn't think Dante could do much worse to him out here.

The force with which his head hit the brick wall of a nearby building made him rethink that. After a bit. Dante pinned him hard, their bodies pressed together uncomfortably. The slayer's expression was unreadable, but Nero saw a deep unhappiness in his eyes. It unsettled him; he started to wish he hadn't asked. Before he could tell Dante not to bother, that he didn't care anymore, warm lips were pressed to his ear.

"My brother raised the tower. I killed him for it."

* * *

Yeah, I'm not happy with this chapter either. But, the plot must be presented (or rather, slogged through) somehow. There's too much Dante in this chapter, but he's fun to write when he's drunk, so I didn't cut him out as much as I should've. Oh, and I know Dante didn't technically kill Vergil, or even fight him just because he raised the tower, but that's how it's gonna be in this fic. But it's a minor issue anyway, lol. Please review and let me know what you think. It motivates me to write faster if I think people are waiting on me, haha. :D


	6. Primal

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Implied Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause there'd be a lot more swearing, lol.

Thank you everyone who reviewed or added this to alerts/faves! Much appreciated. Feedback is awesome. :)

* * *

Chapter Six: Primal

Nero could feel the cold from the brick-wall behind him seeping through his clothes. His breath, half-choked by Dante's forearm against his throat, rose as smoke from his lips. The teen's head ached a bit, but his vision had cleared. Even half-drunk and pissed off, Dante hadn't hit him as hard as he could have. The tall hunter still had him pinned to the wall, his warm, muscular body pressed hard against the teen. Dante's eyes were icy, and Nero could tell by his expression that the slayer was tempted to hit him again, but managing to control himself.

Nero's mind reeled. He was exhausted, too tired to still be angry with Dante. The older slayer rarely mentioned his brother, and when he did he never offered any details on what the man might have been like. This, that Dante had killed him, was a revelation. His devilbringer twinged; Nero could feel the cold steel sheathed inside it. He'd never thought all that much about Yamato's previous wielder, but now he wondered if he'd still want the blade if he knew all that it had done.

"Dante," he muttered, finding it difficult to speak while Dante leaned his weight against his windpipe. Nero squirmed a bit, vowing to kick the old man's ass for this later, after he'd had a good night's sleep. He could've gotten away from Dante, but he'd rather not piss the slayer off further. Picking a fight with Dante when he was intoxicated and probably enraged was just asking for a whole heap of broken bones.

"Sorry." The pressure against his throat suddenly vanished, and Nero almost staggered in the cold air as Dante stepped away from him. The hunter tugged the collar of his red trench higher against the freezing rain. "It's just… I fucking hate this place."

"No shit," Nero gasped, gulping air deeply into his oxygen-starved lungs. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work the knots out of his back. The youth paused, seeing Dante stare forlornly at the ruined tower. "I shouldn't have asked," he offered, half of him bristling at the thought of apologising and the other half genuinely sorry.

Dante glanced back at the teen, his expression unreadable. "Let's get out of here. I want at least a couple hours' sleep before Lady calls with more jobs she can't be bothered to do herself." The slayer strode off into the darkness without waiting to see if Nero was following.

Nero rubbed at his aching throat and eyed the tower dubiously. It loomed on the horizon, a dark blotch against the lighter sky. For a moment, he thought he saw a light flicker again near the top of one of the spires, but when it didn't appear a second time he decided it was his eyes playing tricks on him. He turned on his heel and went after Dante, tugging his blue hoodie up over his head to try and ward off the rain.

"Now who's being cranky, old man?" Nero caught up to the hunter a block away. Dante's turned his face towards the teen, making sure Nero could see him roll his eyes. The slayer easily dodged the half-hearted punch Nero threw his way and smirked at the younger man.

"I think it's still you, kid."

"If you got mauled as much as I do, you'd be cranky too."

Dante's grin was utterly wicked, and his eyes sparkled mischievously.

Nero blushed. "Pervert," he muttered. As an afterthought, he continued. "I'm sorry though. About your brother." The teen rubbed at his nose awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the pavement to avoid the worst of the puddles. He heard the slayer exhale slowly, his face falling a bit at Nero's words.

"It's alright. It was a long time ago." Dante's words seemed a bit forced, and Nero got the impression that nothing about this was alright, at all. They walked in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before Dante spoke again.

"So, what were you dreaming about that left you in such a state? I mean, you even hung out with me for a while. Must've been pretty desperate, kid. And then you go for a walk and head straight for the fuckin' Temen-Ni-Gru. I have to say, that's kinda weird."

Nero snorted. "I couldn't sleep so I went for a walk. As far as strange things that have happened to me lately go, that one doesn't exactly top the list. But I've never dreamt before, so it was a little odd." The teen tried to wipe some of the rain off his face. He had no doubts that any precipitation in this city was highly polluted.

"A virgin dreamer, then?" the slayer asked teasingly. The rain had flattened Dante's hair down over his forehead, making him appear younger than his years. Nero scowled up at him.

"Shut up, old man."

"So, what was it about?" Dante persisted. He led them unerringly through the city's myriad alleys and backstreets, heading for the office. Nero scarcely acknowledged where he was; all the buildings in the slum looked the same to him. He hesitated before replying; certain that Dante would make fun of him for being so unnerved by a simple dream.

"Come on. If you don't tell me I'll just have to assume that it featured me." Dante waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "What happened in it? Was it one of those ones where you have to give a public speech, and then you get up on stage and realize you're naked, and-"

"I dreamt I killed two Knights in Fortuna and was imprisoned for it," Nero blurted, figuring he'd never get a word in edgewise so long as Dante rambled on.

Dante gave him a thoughtful look but didn't say anything in response. He appeared to be thinking intently, if such a thing were possible. Nero followed him through a filthy alley and was grateful when they reached a familiar-looking street.

"I can almost hear the gears turn, old man."

"Watch it, punk." Dante gave Nero a gentle shove, which, because it was Dante's idea of 'gentle,' sent the teen reeling. Nero managed to keep from stumbling off the sidewalk and into the flooded gutters on the street. Leaves and other unidentifiable but still unpleasant items choked the drains. This whole city was gross, Nero decided. No wonder Dante felt so at home in it.

"Real mature," Nero growled, crossing his arms over his chest and shivering in the wind.

Dante chuckled softly. "So why'd the dream bother you so much? We must've killed dozens of possessed Knights when that Saviour thing was going on. Irritating fuckers."

"These ones weren't possessed. They bled like humans. They were guys I knew, that I worked with. And I didn't even realize that they weren't demons, I just-"

"You were dreaming, kid. You dreamt you killed them. Completely different." Dante yawned, spotting the neon Devil May Cry sign and making a beeline for the office. Nero trudged after him, soaked to his skin. The worn-down building had never looked so warm and inviting as it did now. It might not have been clean, but at least it was dry.

Dante tugged one of the heavy doors open and turned to face Nero, blocking the teen's path. "And you're sure you didn't go to the tower on purpose? That it was just coincidental?"

"Yeah, old man. Just out for a stroll. I don't know why you're so concerned."

The hunter didn't look entirely convinced, but Nero didn't care. He shoved his way past Dante, grateful that the half-devil had paid the heat bill. The office was almost balmy compared to the chill temperatures outside. He set Blue Rose on the desk and set about stripping off his sodden hoodie. Nero found the room quite warm, suddenly almost unbearably so. Dante threw his trench coat over the back of his chair and yawned again.

"Hey kid, lost in space? Nero?"

* * *

A broadsword was rammed into his chest, splitting his sternum, and cracking his ribs like they were nothing more than brittle twigs. He screamed and thrashed, injuring himself further. Everything hurt. Nero's clothes were soaked, and all he could smell was blood. The office's wooden floor was unyielding against his back, and his vision was a swirl of ebony and crimson. Someone was shouting, maybe calling his name, but he couldn't hear well over the roar of blood in his head. He turned his face towards the sound, acknowledging it, and cringed as the sword slid roughly from his body.

He heard the blade land with a clang on the floor beside him, and felt a heavy weight straddle his waist. Hands slipped beneath his neck, trying to lift his head a bit. Nero resisted the touch, trying to pull away but the hands were insistent. He heard sounds that might have been words, but nothing was coherent. Something cool and sharp-edged was pressed to his lips, the smell of sulphur becoming almost as strong as the blood scent for a moment. Nero turned his face away, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"C'mon, kid," someone muttered. Dante.

Demonic healing slowly kicked in, clearing Nero's mind enough that he was able to see. Dante straddled him, looking concerned. The man's clothes were blood-soaked and half-shredded, and some deep gouges in his chest were only just now sewing themselves back together. The man had one hand behind Nero's neck, lifting his head, and the other held a jagged, glittering green jewel. Dante pushed it at Nero's mouth, cursing under his breath.

"It's a vital star. It'll help you heal faster."

Nero's vision blurred again as Dante crawled off his prone body. Vertigo swept over him in a wave as he was picked up bridal style and deposited on the battered leather sofa. His wounds tore again with the motion, and Nero realized he'd been sliced up pretty badly. Judging by the way Dante looked, he'd probably deserved it. The hunter's demonic blood allowed him to heal swiftly, but Nero winced to think of how much damage he must've inflicted for Dante to react the way he did. The older hunter was splattered with blood, and not all of it was Nero's.

"What the fuck did you do to me, old man?" Nero gasped.

"Nothing permanent. I had to slow you down somehow; those claws of yours are sharp." Dante offered the vital star again, and this time Nero let the hunter feed him. The alchemical gem was prickly and tasted bitter, and it was almost nauseating trying to crunch it in his teeth. The pain in his chest eased to a dull ache, and he could breathe easier immediately. The teen scowled at Dante, who was seated on the couch beside him.

"And you what? Felt more like stabbing me than hitting me over the head this time?"

"You were worse this time than the others," Dante stated, still half-leaning over the ex-Knight. He checked Nero's wounds, making sure the bones and muscle were knitting back together correctly. The slayer applied gentle pressure to the largest cut, trying to stop the worst of the bleeding. "Alastor hadn't gotten out for a while, and she was a bit over-enthusiastic," Dante offered by way of explanation.

"Over-enthusiastic?" Nero sputtered. He tried to push Dante away, but raising his arms pulled at his wound. Pain sang along every nerve-ending at the movement, and Nero bit back a scream. Apparently, a vital star was only analgesic for so long.

"Sit still, crazy-pants. You'll be alright." Dante sounded more concerned than reassuring. His hands were warm on Nero's chest, the touch soothing the younger hunter. _I must really be going insane if I start feeling comforted by Dante's hands on me_, Nero thought, and fell asleep a moment later.

* * *

Sorry it took so long. Review and let me know what you think; all comments are appreciated.


	7. Surpassing All

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Implied Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause there'd be a lot more swearing and nudity, lol.

Thank you everyone who reviewed or added this to alerts/faves! Much appreciated. Feedback is awesome. :)

* * *

Chapter Seven: Surpassing All

Nero realized at once why Dante used vital stars so sparingly: the hangover was brutal. His skull felt like it might collapse in on itself at any moment, and his mouth seemed to be full of sulphuric grit. Nero grimaced and opened his eyes, blinking in the pale sunlight that flooded the main room of the office. He was still on the leather couch, wearing the same damp, bloodstained clothes he'd worn the night before. Someone, presumably Dante, had tugged off his boots, and draped a tattered woollen blanket over him.

The Ex-Knight sat up cautiously, his breath hitching as his sticky clothing pulled away from his sensitive skin. His chest still ached, but his wounds had closed and healed overnight. He peeled away his torn hoodie and shirt from where Dante had stabbed him, exposing pale, healthy flesh. He was still covered in dried blood, but at least he wasn't bleeding.

Nero glanced around the office, trying not to move his head too quickly. Dante was snoring in his chair, apparently having spent the night there. The place wasn't messed up too much more than usual, although the wooden floor was stained with several large, crimson blotches. The teen could see the jagged scrape where Alastor had sliced into the floor after going through his ribs. He winced at the thought, and scanned the rest of the room. There was another large puddle of blood by the place where the Devil Arms were stored on the wall; that was probably why Dante had grabbed the electrified broadsword to defend himself instead of Rebellion.

The truly disturbing part, Nero decided, was that Dante had felt threatened enough to pick up a weapon at all. Sure, he might've pistol whipped the teen the first time Nero had lost it and attacked him, but Nero was certain that that had simply been the old man being an asshole. He hadn't picked up the gun to protect himself. Even on his best day, Nero couldn't beat Dante in hand-to-hand combat. That fact had never stopped him from trying, and Dante was always willing to let him, but Nero knew he was being toyed with every time he and the older hunter sparred.

The main benefit to practicing swordplay against Dante was that he could attack the man full force. He never had to pull his punches, or control his strength. Sparring with his fellow Knights, on the rare occasions he deigned to, was quite different. Half the time he'd avoided landing blows at all, simply to make sure he didn't cleave anyone in two. Nero sighed and rubbed at his nose, realizing that there was blood caked under both his human nails and demonic claws.

"Out of my fucking mind," he muttered softly. Nero rose gingerly to his feet and stretched slowly, not wanting to pull any muscles so soon after they'd knit themselves back together.

"That's kind of an understatement, kid." Dante yawned and tipped his chair a bit so he could put his feet on the desk. The movement brought the hunter out of the shadows, and Nero realized that Dante, like himself, was still wearing ripped and bloodstained clothing. The teen couldn't guess why Dante had bothered staying downstairs with him rather than getting cleaned up and heading to his own bed. He didn't know whether to feel touched or insulted at the older man's ostensible concern.

The teen ambled over to the desk and sat down facing Dante. Nero's movements were still a bit stiff, and he rubbed his clawed hand over the cord and muscle in his neck, trying to soothe the tension. His back and shoulders hurt from where he must've hit the floor hard, unless it was from earlier when Dante had shoved him against the building during his walk.

"Yeah, well…" Nero trailed off, unsure of where he wanted this conversation to go. The slayer was probably the best friend Nero had ever had, apart from Kyrie. But there was more to Dante than he'd realized at first. The pizza-loving, skirt-chasing fighter was a persona that Dante presented as though it was all of him. It led people to believe that he was nothing more than a smart-mouthed goofball, a nice guy who just happened to make his living by slaughtering sentient creatures. Nero had to admit, he honestly didn't know much about Dante. The man sitting less than a metre away, casually watching Nero with too-pale eyes, had killed his own brother.

_I don't understand you at all, _Nero thought. The idea was an uncomfortable one, and he pushed it away abruptly, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. "Why'd you stab me?" The teen cleared his throat, trying to avoid seeming petulant. It was a stupid question. Dante had stabbed him because he, Nero, was going batfuck crazy. _Obviously._

"You started it." Dante's frosty eyes roved over Nero's lean frame, studying him intensely. His lips quirked, as though he knew the reaction his words would cause. The teen glowered at the half-devil in irritation. When Dante gave no sign of commenting further, Nero grabbed his legs off the desk and threw the seated hunter over backwards. He landed heavily with a thud, the chair protesting its treatment.

Without hesitating, Nero pounced on the slayer. Dante had a lot to answer for, and if he wouldn't give Nero honest replies willingly, the teen would beat them out of him. Being stabbed had brought back memories of Agnus and the Saviour, viciously-toothed swords and demonic armour. He remembered being pinned to the wall while the alchemist twisted the blade into his chest, warm blood sliding down the sword and dripping onto the floor. Even during their roughest sparring matches, Dante had never done anything like that. Of course, Nero had never managed to give him cause to, either.

The Ex-Knight had to admit that despite living with the man for several months, he was really no closer to Dante than he'd been the first time they'd met. Sure, Dante looked after him, gave him food and a bed and a job, but Nero was fucked if he knew why. He couldn't tell when Dante was really pissed off, or concerned, or even when the slayer was actually paying attention to what Nero was saying. Dante was more than nice to Nero much of the time, but it was impossible to gauge his sincerity, or if he meant anything he said. And although the hunter was sometimes flirtatious to the point of obsession, Nero had seen him direct almost the same level of attention to Lady. The slayer's behaviour was confusing, and being confused pissed Nero off.

Nero managed to land a solid punch on Dante's jaw before the half-devil threw him off and rolled to his feet. The teen ignored the older hunter's pleased grin and tried again, dodging an uppercut aimed at his chin and kicking Dante in the face. The slayer's head snapped to the side for a moment, but Dante quickly shook off the blow. He laughed and took a step back, but Nero rushed at him, sending a roundhouse towards the older man's neck. Dante's reflexes kicked in, his hands coming up to grab Nero's leg. He flipped the teen onto the floor and followed him down.

Nero hit the planks hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. In a flash, Dante straddled him, trying to pin his hands. The teen thrashed, bending his knees to try and gain leverage, but Dante was _heavy_. The slayer clutched at Nero's wrists, crushing them in a vise-like grip against the floor and leaning his weight on them.

"Doesn't matter if you're crazy or not, kid. You just can't seem to keep your hands off me." Dante grinned, thinking he'd won. "So, what's got you all riled up now? You wake up on the wrong side of the couch or somethin'?"

Nero growled, his devilbringer sparking cerulean in warning. The old pervert was probably enjoying every minute of this. A burst of incandescent rage gave the teen strength, and he managed to break the hold and roll them both over, winding up on top on Dante's chest. The slayer smirked up at him and batted his eyelashes mockingly at the youth, enjoying the fact that Nero had gotten so close willingly.

Maybe Dante thought it was erotic, but Nero was mad as hell. In the past twenty-four hours, this man had groped him, mauled him, thrown him into a cupboard, smashed him into a brick wall, and stabbed him with a broadsword made of electrified steel. All while being fully aware that Nero was having... issues. He was going to mess up the older hunter's handsome face, and beat the hell out of him for not caring… _Whoa, that's not what I meant._ The thought distracted the teen for a moment, and Dante landed a punch on his jaw that was decidedly less harmful than it could've been. The old man was obviously fucking with him. And Nero was going to kill him for it. He grabbed a fistful of Dante's white hair in his human hand, lifting his devilbringer to begin the onslaught.

A soft sound from behind them caught Nero's attention; the scuff of boots of the rough plank floor. Lady's voice rose liltingly over the sound of his and Dante's heavy breathing.

"Am I interrupting something?" The brunette's grin was vicious and gleeful. She strutted further into the office as though she owned it, setting Kalina-Ann down carefully on the pool table. Nero swore and rolled off Dante, stalking past the smirking young woman into the kitchen. He heard Dante climb to his feet and pick up his chair, settling behind his desk.

Nero picked through the broken glassware in the cupboard until he found a mug that was relatively whole. A quick glance inside the fridge confirmed his suspicions that there was nothing inside it but two cases of beer and a sketchy-looking slice of pizza. The teen sighed and turned on the tap, trying to get his breathing under control. Didn't Dante give a damn that he was going insane? They were friends, weren't they? But then again, Nero had considered Credo a friend-of-sorts as well, for a time, and look at how that had turned out. Credo had betrayed him to Sanctus without a single qualm. Just chucked him into the fire as though he was worthless, and deserved his fate.

The mug in Nero's fist shattered, and he barely resisted the urge to smash the pieces further. Instead, he scooped the whole mess into the garbage and leaned over the sink to drink from the tap. The water tasted like the chlorine used to clean the city's reservoirs; a complete opposite from the purity of Fortuna's spring-fed wells. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Nero marched back into the main room of the office, keeping his eyes on the floor as he headed to the couch.

Lady took off her sunglasses and blinked at them both as Nero slouched past her. "You two look like shit," she announced, taking in their tattered clothing and ravaged appearances.

"Thanks, babe. You know, if you called before you showed up, we might even dress up nice for ya." Dante propped his feet on the desk once more, and gave Lady the finger. The huntress rolled her eyes and dragged a barstool up to the desk, perching on it gracefully.

"Why is there blood all over the floor? I mean, other than the obvious explanation." Lady crossed her legs, balancing easily. She drew one of her pistols and ran her fingers over it absent-mindedly, her gaze switching between Dante and Nero to see who would reply.

The slayer glanced at the teen; two sets of blue eyes meeting for a moment before Nero frowned and looked away. "It's Nero's. And mine."

Lady raised one eyebrow incredulously. "Well, that's kinky but-"

"He's been having dissociative episodes." Dante interjected, ignoring the small sound of protest Nero made. The teen forced himself to calm down by thinking of all the martial _katas_ he knew, and how he could twist them into combinations that would end with him stomping on Dante's face. It wasn't that effective.

The huntress shot Nero a startled glance. "The same as what happened the day I dropped off the contact info for the mission? I thought I told you to talk to Dante about it?"

Nero rubbed at his nose, half-embarrassed. Lady's mismatched eyes glared at him, and it was painfully obvious for a moment that although they were friends, she never forgot his or Dante's demonic blood. Nero didn't really want to discuss this, and Dante saved him from having to answer her.

"He jumped me instead. Trashed the shop the first time, before I got things under control."

"He pistol-whipped me," Nero added. Dante grinned apologetically but didn't deny it.

"So they're lasting longer? I mean, that first time you only seemed out of it for a moment or two." Lady shifted a bit on the barstool, watching Nero with concern.

"Yeah," Dante muttered. "Almost twenty minutes this last time, before he came around."

"More like, almost twenty minutes before you decided to stab me with Alastor," Nero spat, still pissed off but trying to wait until Lady left before confronting Dante again.

The slayer yawned and stretched in his chair. "I don't think my efforts to wake you up help any," he said to the irate teen. "They just prevent you from wrecking havoc too much. You wake up when the episode is over; in this case, it was a minute or two after I ran you through."

"Nice of you," Nero snarled.

Dante shrugged, lifting one hand to rub his neck. "What was I supposed to do? You managed to rip my throat out about five minutes in. Good thing I heal fast."

Both Lady and Nero startled at that. Lady's odd-coloured eyes took in Dante's dishevelled and bloodied appearance, while Nero sputtered for words. The teen watched as Lady levelled a hard stare at the hunter; the look the two exchanged seemed to convey more information to each other than Nero was able to decipher. Nero waited, but neither Lady nor Dante spoke for a moment.

"Have you called Trish?" Lady asked finally, opening a pouch of ammunition and counting out rounds. Nero had watched her do this before; if the huntress had a nervous habit, this was it.

Dante's gaze flicked Nero's way, his face emotionless. "Yeah. I called her last night. She should get here this evening."

"That's a start," Lady rose gracefully to her feet. "We'll need her help to clear out the tower."

"I actually called her to help me. If you're claiming her, I guess that lets us off the hook." Dante said it as a statement, but Lady took it to be a question.

"Absolutely not. You and Nero have known about this mission for over a week now. People are missing, and they might even still be alive in there. I need you two to take care of any demons that show up while Trish and I sweep the place for survivors. And if there's humans helping the demons, or even summoning them, then they must be taken alive. Planning this has taken a lot of my time and energy, Dante, and I don't want it screwed up." Lady's stress was apparent in her voice. She was still counting ammo, her clever fingers running over the clips and shells almost unconsciously.

"Well, I'm glad you made a plan, babe, but that's not exactly what I had in mind. You didn't give us all the details when you dumped this mission on us, and you know I'm not going back in that place for any amount of money."

"Too fucking bad, Dante." Lady sighed, seeming more tired and exasperated than angry. "I don't know what goes on in that head of yours, and quite frankly I don't want to, but I wish you'd at least acknowledge that we have two serious situations here." She paused and turned to Nero, "I need both of you to help with this. Are you feeling up to it? It won't take longer than a day, and I'll have the last of the arraignments made by tomorrow. Once this is done, I can help you and Dante and Trish figure out what's happening to you."

Nero shifted on the couch, running his claws through his hair and finding it sticky with blood. He could understand where Lady was coming from; he knew how she got with missions sometimes. It was almost a religious calling with her, he figured. She was intense by nature, and loved her job with a fierce delight. When she got involved in a mission, it quickly became an obsession. Nero couldn't blame her. Just 'cause Dante wasn't thrilled about the task didn't mean they could simply ignore it and hope it went away. It was their job, for fuck's sake. Their _duty_.

Before he could agree to help Lady, Dante spoke up. "Nero's not going near the tower."

"What?" Lady's eyes widened. "We'll need him. He-"

Dante growled, the threat was veiled but still present. "He isn't going near it."

Lady quirked her head to the side, watching Dante intently. Nero couldn't read her expression, but she certainly wasn't enraged like he would've expected her to be. "You think that-" she began slowly, her voice almost sad.

"I don't know. But I won't risk it."

For once, Lady didn't argue. She was almost subdued as she slipped off the barstool, adjusting her sunglasses to hide her mismatched eyes. The lithe woman retrieved her rocket-launcher and headed for the door. "Call me when Trish gets in. We'll talk then. And take a shower, for christsakes. You reek of blood."

* * *

Review and let me know what you think, it's always appreciated (read: ecstatically loved), and it's why I bother posting. If I didn't want feedback from readers, I would leave this hidden in the dark and mysterious recesses of my laptop, revealed only when my friends needed something to point and laugh at. I'm sure it would get lonely there, haha, so review, comment, criticize, etc. Thanks. :)


	8. Before

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Unrequited Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause there'd be a lot more swearing, lol.

* * *

Chapter Eight: Before

Nero watched the crimson liquid slide off his flesh; it mixed with the soap residue at the bottom of the large shower stall before swirling down the drain. He'd headed up the stairs almost before Lady had slammed the door shut. It wasn't a show of obedience to the little bitch; he'd just needed to get away and think a bit before he kicked Dante's ass. _Questions first, pummelling after… or during_. Getting clean was improving Nero's mood, even as Dante seemed determined to make it worse. What the hell was wrong with that man?

It was one thing if Dante had bad memories of Temen-Ni-Gru and didn't want to go back inside; Nero got that. He figured that the memories were probably pretty awful if Dante was willingly endangering innocent people, not to mention Lady and Trish, by not helping. It was another thing altogether to refuse to let Nero assist with a job. Dante was technically his employer, but Nero was sure that the hunter stretched the definition to its limits. The teen scratched at his head, puzzled. The mission was a shit job, but normally that meant that Nero was the one obligated to do it.

The ex-Knight sighed and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry off. The warmth of the bathroom soothed his sore muscles, and Nero forced himself to relax for a moment. He wiped the steam off the mirror with his human hand and stared at his reflection. He didn't look any different, not really. His eyes were maybe a little bloodshot, and he had a few new fading bruises, courtesy of Dante, but other than that he was the same old Nero he'd always been. _Yeah, with a hefty added dose of psycho_.

"Hey kid? I'd like a shower too. Preferably sometime today. So get the hell out of the bathroom!" Dante sounded as though he was right outside the door, and a hard smash that Nero supposed was in lieu of a knock confirmed this.

The teen wrapped the towel securely around his waist, wishing he'd brought clean clothes into the bathroom with him. He knew Dante, the pervert, would look anyway, but that didn't mean that Nero had to make it easier for him. Scowling, Nero wrenched the door open, brushing past the slightly-taller man without a word. He was in his own room with the door shut before the slayer could make even one snide comment.

Nero fumbled in his dresser for clean clothes; he'd picked up a few more slovenly habits from Dante than he was willing to admit, including an aversion to laundry. He eventually found boxers and an old pair of jeans, but all of his shirts were dirty, and his socks seemed determined to remain un-mated. Sighing in irritation, the teen gathered an armload of laundry and lugged it carefully to the basement.

The fact that Dante owned a washer and dryer at all had surprised Nero. The hunter had seemed like the kind of guy who would scrounge up some quarters and go to the nearest laundromat (_and_ try to pick up there, while he was at it). It only took one mission with the older man to see why he didn't: clothing covered in blood and entrails scared the crap out of people. Dante wasn't the pariah that Nero had expected a half-devil to be; it seemed like Dante did his best not to scare off his neighbours in the community. _Yeah, 'cause then he'd have no one to fuck_.

Before he could follow that train of thought any further, Nero snapped on the washer and began loading in his clothes. Two stories up, he heard Dante start cursing. _Serves you right, jackass_. Nero smirked, changing the washer setting so that Dante's shower was deprived of even more hot water. _And I've got some bottles to smash, too_. The youth threw in the last of his socks and added a capful of detergent, wiping his hands on his jeans. Above him, he heard the shower turn off and Dante stomp across the floor.

Nero closed the washer door and set about cleaning lint from the dryer vent. It took a couple minutes, as the screen had been bent into an ungodly shape. The teen didn't know how it got that way, but he suspected the devil hunter's impatient temperament. By the time Nero had finished with it, Dante was sitting sprawled across the narrow basement steps about halfway down, effectively blocking his way back upstairs. Nero pursed his lips and considered the chances that he could successfully vault over the hunter without smashing his head on the ceiling.

"You're mad at me," Dante stated, his eyes glinting darkly as though he was struggling to hide his amusement. Predictably, that made it worse.

"You just figured that out now?" Nero growled, feeling the talons of his devilbringer sink into his palm. "Get out of my way." He gestured with his head, nodding towards the top of the stairs. If anything, Dante relaxed so as to take up more space.

"I will," the hunter began, idly picking at the calluses on his fingers where the gloves didn't cover. "But you'll have to make it worth my while." Dante smirked, watching Nero try to contain his outrage. "I want some answers."

"_You_ want some answers?" The teen snarled, taking a single step towards the older man. "Or what? You'll keep me locked in your basement?"

The slayer snorted, running one hand through his damp hair. "As appealing as that sounds, kid, you'd probably escape while I did my laundry." Dante shook his head, his expression rueful. "I'll make you a deal. A question for a question."

Nero laughed bitterly. "Yeah, right. Just get out of my way." Despite his words, Nero made no further move towards the slayer. Instead he stood where he was, fidgeting by shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I'll answer first, if you don't believe me." The hunter looked more serious now, but Nero was still suspicious. For a guy who sucked at poker, Dante could certainly string his enemies along when he wanted to. The youth shrugged, pretending indifference. The older man stretched out on the stairs, seemingly content to wait. When Nero didn't say anything, Dante prodded. "So you don't trust me, then?"

_Bastard_, Nero thought, seething. "Trust has nothing to do with this."

"That's becoming apparent." Dante scoffed, his booted feet tapping impatiently on the steps. He moved around a bit, trying to make himself comfortable.

"That's not what I meant," Nero protested, wondering as he did so why he bothered. Dante had shown little faith, and now the man was accusing _him_ of being untrusting. His frustration threatened to explode into rage, and Nero just barely kept his temper in check. "Fine," he finally ground out between his gritted teeth. "For starters, you can tell me why you don't want me near the Temen-Ni-Gru."

The teen could tell immediately that Dante didn't want to answer. The man's jaw had clenched as soon as he'd asked. Nero resisted the urge to gloat, instead tapping his talons lightly against his arm. "Well?" He prompted, keeping his expression unreadable. "I do have other questions, but since you brought up the issue of trust…" Nero let his voice trail off, knowing he was being vindictive but not caring.

"That's too long a story to tell you here." Dante's words were laced with irritation. "Ask something else."

"Alright," Nero spat, feeling the last scraps of his good mood sputter and fizzle away. "But don't forget that this was your stupid idea." The ex-Knight pretended to think for a moment, although he already knew what he was going to ask next. "How did I manage to cause so much damage to you last night? You didn't have any trouble containing me before."

Dante smirked a little. "I was still a little drunk, kid. My reactions were a fraction of a second slower, and you were right out of it. You managed to catch me around the throat with your claws." The slayer raised one graceful hand to demonstrate. "I pulled away, 'cause it was clear you weren't gonna let go. Not the best idea, but I was getting impatient at that point. I couldn't manage to pin you and wait, like I had before. When you threw me into the wall next to the Devil Arms, Alastor found her way into my hands. She slowed you down pretty effectively." Dante ignored Nero's glare and continued. "Good thing the neighbours know to never investigate any sounds they hear comin' from my place." He chuckled softly, resting his hands on his knees.

Nero nodded in agreement, scratching at his nose. "So you did have to stab me?" He asked, wondering what would have happened if someone had come to check things out. If Dante had difficulty managing him, what chance would a human have?

"It wasn't anything personal, kid. Certainly not revenge for stabbing me in Fortuna. It was just… You were pretty crazed, and I was starting to wonder how long it would be before you were yourself again, _if_ you'd be yourself again." Dante sighed, the faintest trace of worry in his pale eyes.

"I guess that's fair. I wonder the same thing," Nero muttered, keeping his gaze on the floor. A tiny part of him was delighted that Dante apparently cared enough to worry about him. Nero stomped on the thoughts before they went any further. _Dante doesn't give a fuck. No one gives a fuck, so just-_

"Yeah, well, you're not to that point yet." The hunter's words were spoken quietly, interrupting the teen's internal monologue, and Nero just barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. When the ex-Knight looked up, he found Dante watching him.

"My turn to ask," the half-devil said abruptly. "You said you don't know why you left Fortuna, but you obviously remember the city, or else you wouldn't be so homesick." The slayer raised his hands to stop Nero's inevitable protest. "So, when do your memories start getting hazy?"

Nero thought for a few minutes. Searching his memories had become like wandering into a fog. Recent events were clear for the most part; he easily recalled the last few months at the Devil May Cry office with Dante. He could remember Fortuna, or rather, an idea of it; graceful marble buildings, fragrant climbing roses, and warm, salt-scented breezes. He remembered the Saviour incident, the reformation of the Order of the Sword afterwards, and helping to rebuild the city after Sanctus had destroyed it.

There were gaps, though. Pieces were missing. Things he was certain he'd been able to remember before, the last time Dante had asked him this, were gone. Nero didn't know what they were, but he was sure he'd had more recollections than this. He had memories of Kyrie: images of the young woman sharing stories from her vast and ever-expanding repertoire of songs and legends about devils, an impromptu concert in a rubble-strewn courtyard, and a bit of what he thought was him teaching her to shoot Blue Rose. The flow was gone, though. The memories were scattered, out of place. A moment of patrolling along the castle-town's perimeter during the rebuilding segued into a memory of sitting in the opera house, glaring at Credo. _Fucked_, Nero's mind presented helpfully. _You're fucked._

It should've all added up, he thought in frustration. Everything had been going fine in Fortuna, hadn't it? And then suddenly he was wandering through a strange and filthy city, searching for Dante. He explained all this to the slayer, who sat listening intently, a slight frown on his angular face.

"So, could something have happened to you in Fortuna? Who's in charge of the Order now?" Dante asked thoughtfully.

"You only get one question at a time, old man." Nero murmured, realizing his laundry was finished washing. He turned away from the hunter, certain that Dante would see his anguished expression and mock him for it. Nero carefully extracted his clothing from the machine and threw the garments into the dryer, watching Dante out of the corner of his eye. The older slayer seemed annoyed by his response.

"You know, I _am_ trying to help you out here, kid," he huffed, heaving himself to his feet. "And technically, you did ask me two."

"The second was for clarification."

"So were the ones I asked."

Nero scowled and turned back to the dryer, hearing footsteps on the stairs behind him. Dante must have given up on the game, he decided, flicking on the appliance. The machine protested before starting, an unhealthy rattle shaking its frame. Nero wondered how long it had before it wound up in the scrap-yard, if that wasn't the place where Dante had found it. The teen was adjusting the dryer's settings, hoping to extend its life, when a voice spoke into his ear.

"If I were an enemy, you'd be dead by now."

Nero jumped and whirled, his human hand automatically reaching for a gun that wasn't there. He wound up nearly nose-to-nose with Dante, who stood smirking less than a foot away.

"Jackass. It's your basement. Unless there's even more things that you aren't telling me, I should be okay down here." Nero started to shove past Dante, but the older man grabbed him by the upper arms. The touch of the slayer's calloused hands seemed scalding hot against Nero's skin, reminding the teen of how soothing those hands had felt when he'd been wounded. _Shit. Don't even think about that. _

"Don't even start," Nero hissed. He tried to wrench himself from Dante's grip, but the hunter accommodated the movement and pushed the teen back towards the rumbling dryer. "Fuck off, Dante."

"Phrase it as a question," the hunter smirked, taking another step forward and sending Nero stumbling to keep the distance between them. The teen swore under his breath, nearly losing his balance.

"What do you want?" Nero blurted, realizing his error a second too late. Dante paused, looking thoughtful, and the teen tried to lift his arms enough to break the hold. _He's perverted enough as it is without making it easier for him_. Nero managed to graze Dante's side with his claws, hoping to forestall the inevitable lewd comment as long as possible. He was calculating the best angle for kicking Dante away without wrenching his own muscles when the slayer's pale eyes found Nero's darker ones, holding his gaze for a moment.

"Well," the half-devil began, leering down at the teen. Nero looked away, irritated and embarrassed. It was a mistake. Dante took the opportunity to push the ex-Knight firmly against the dryer, pinning Nero between it and his own muscular frame. Nero yelped and struggled for space to gain leverage, but Dante caught both his hands and forced them behind the teen. The movement knocked Nero off balance further, and he wound up arched backwards painfully over the dryer. _I'm so gonna kill him for this_.

"See kid, this is what I don't understand. You're perfectly capable of kicking me across the room, and yet you haven't done so. It's kind of misleading, don't ya think?" Dante was way too close, the buckles on his leather shirt scratching the youth's bare chest. His scent wafted over Nero, making the teen's breath hitch. _Shit. Just punch him so he'll go away. There is no time for this._

Nero refused to look at the slayer. "What part of 'fuck off' didn't you comprehend? I don't have time to play these stupid games with you."

Dante ignored him. "At least I can get a straight answer out of Lady. Granted, it's usually in the form of a hail of bullets, but she makes her position quite clear. You, however, are confusing as hell."

"That makes two of us," Nero interjected. "Although in my defence, I am the one who's losing my mind." His traitorous body was starting to relax; his cramped muscles refusing to hold him any longer. Dante was too warm against him, pressed flush from waist to sternum, and Nero fought to keep from blushing.

Dante chuckled softly, and Nero managed to free himself enough to attempt to knee the older man in the groin. The slayer seemed to anticipate this, as he released Nero suddenly and took a step back, leaving the teen scrambling to stay on his feet. He continued quite casually, as though he hadn't just completely invaded Nero's personal space. "Trish should arrive soon. Hopefully you'll be a little more forthcoming with her than you are with me."

"Why'd you call her?" Nero muttered sullenly. He would've hit the older man, but Dante would probably think he was coming on to him.

"Thought that was obvious, kid. It's not like you're getting any better. Trish might know something that'll fix you. And if she doesn't, well, eventually, I'm gonna need help restraining you."

"Yeah," Nero agreed, his eyes fixed on the basement's cement floor. "That's true."

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If you like, review and let me know what you think. Feedback makes me happy, and it doesn't even have to be good feedback. I'm content with any kind of response, really, even if you just say that you've read all the chapters so far. (Haha, I am so lame…) Any advice on Dante and Nero's characterization would be great, too.


	9. Created

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Unrequited Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause there'd be a lot more swearing, lol.

Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed (or added this to faves/alerts)! Feedback is always appreciated.

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Chapter Nine: Created

Figuring that Dante had finished mauling him for the moment, Nero turned away from the older man. He fumbled for a clean T-shirt from the dryer and was pulling it over his head when he heard a muffled thump and a curse. Moments later, Dante started coughing. Nero followed the sound against his better judgement, finding the slayer in a back corner of the basement, rummaging through a multitude of dusty boxes.

The teen had never figured Dante for a bookworm, and he'd been correct in guessing that the slayer preferred his reading material sandwiched between obscene photos of nude women. He was surprised when the half-devil opened the battered cardboard cartons, coughing wretchedly, to reveal books. And not just any books either. Nero was quite certain he wouldn't have been able to find any of these for sale in the city's shops. He was also willing to bet that if one had turned up in an antiquities store, he wouldn't have been able to afford it in this lifetime.

The books were old, bound in leather (or human skin, Dante joked), and printed with a strange type-setting. Some had pages that looked more like vellum than paper, and a dozen had been stitched together with rawhide. Many were hand-written, and English was definitely the minority language. Dante must've had thousands, even tens-of-thousands, of rare books stashed away. Nero accepted the armful Dante had pushed on him dubiously, wondering if a couple of mildewed texts could honestly be considered a peace-offering. He helped the older man carry a few armloads upstairs, stacking the tomes neatly on the desk, before fixing the slayer with a questioning look.

"What the hell, old man? Who leaves stuff like this in their basement? Put them on shelves, at least. It might give this place some dignity."

Dante laughed, tossing another load of books down carelessly. "Why bother? It's not like they're worth reading. I only keep 'em here for Lady; they're technically half hers."

They'd only brought the ones written in some form of English upstairs, as Dante claimed he couldn't read much Latin, and that his Italian was so rusty as to be useless. Nero, who hadn't even considered that Dante might be multilingual, was more startled by this than the fact that the guy had a library in his basement. He picked up one of the battered grimoires, flipping it open to a random page. The script was miniscule enough to make his eyes hurt just looking at it.

"You and Lady own a library." Nero could hear the disbelief in his voice. He honestly knew nothing about Dante. "That's…"

"Fucked up, huh? Although technically, we stole a library. And by _we_ I mean she stole it, and I helped her carry it away at gunpoint. Maybe it could've been considered scavenging." Dante shook his head. "It was originally in the Temen-Ni-Gru. Most of these books are filthy diatribes in praise of power, evil, and demonolatry."

"And Lady wanted them because…?"

"She said they might be useful." Dante snorted. "And I got stuck with a shitload of spooky books. I tried to put some on the shelves, but they'd fall off at weird times, or rearrange themselves. A few used to mutter at night; they'd get the Devil Arms all wound up." Dante gestured at his weapons for emphasis. "Eventually I just boxed them up again." The hunter yawned and stretched. "You should look through them. I doubt you'll find anything about what's happening to you, but at least you'll be able to say that you did as much research as you could."

"Why would that be an issue?" Nero asked, regarding the stacks of books with distaste. He couldn't decide if Dante was honestly trying to help, or just messing with him. Nero preferred his reading material to be practical, and presented in point-form if possible.

"Because Trish'll kick your ass if she gets here and you haven't."

Nero spent the rest of the afternoon at Dante's desk, flipping through the dusty grimoires. The slayer had been correct in gauging their worth; he couldn't find a damn thing in them. And it wasn't like they had indexes, either. Nero stared at the pages until his sight blurred. He couldn't focus on reading, not with Dante sitting a few feet away. The old pervert was cleaning hand guns and had the audacity to act like he _wasn't_ watching Nero. _Bastard_, the youth thought idly, dropping a worn copy of a 12th century demonological treatise on floor.

He didn't understand Dante. That had been apparent for the last week, and possibly would've been revealed sooner if he'd actually thought about it. Nero was the first to admit that he didn't get other people. He couldn't even begin to guess at their motives, and this had never bothered him before. But Dante shouldn't have been such a mystery. Dante was like him, wasn't he? Well, aside from the fact that the slayer was five times stronger and not prone to psychotic fits. Nero growled, feeling as though he were stuck in the dark cloud of his thoughts, unable to escape.

The teen's mood hadn't improved when Trish arrived, swooping into the office with a clatter of heels. Dante's former partner looked the same as she always did; a tall, leggy blonde wrapped in skin-tight black leather. Nero had a hard time looking at her; it was like being eleven all over again. He scratched at his nose and tried to ignore the way Trish curved, her firm breasts barely contained in her bodice. Dante noticed his discomfort and leered at him.

Trish caught the exchange and rolled her eyes. "Pizza and groceries are out in my car, Dante." The demoness was all business as she turned to Nero, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. She gave him a slow, careful smile that made his skin crawl. "And you and I are going to have a little chat."

* * *

Trish's idea of a little chat seemed more like a full-scale interrogation. He'd thought Dante had been invasive in his questioning methods, but then again, he'd never before had the misfortune to be quizzed by Trish. She was detail-oriented to the point of obsession, and while Dante would often leave him alone after he got pissed off, Trish had no such qualms. Nero was quite certain that he'd thoroughly spilled his guts a few times over before the blonde finally let them all begin supper.

The teen was tired and edgy by the time he got his pizza. Talking to the demoness hadn't seemed to help, and Nero found himself immersed in disappointment. He'd been hoping that Trish would come up with something; if not a miracle cure, than at least an explanation.

The three of them sat around Dante's desk, drinking beer and picking apart everything Nero had said in the last hour. Trish watched him thoughtfully, carefully sharpening a small, vicious knife. Her calm demeanour, so unlike Lady's, provided a buffer against his and Dante's more antagonistic personalities. Dante had finished with his guns while Nero read earlier in the afternoon, and was now pouring holy water into crystal vials that he could throw. The ex-Knight finished his third tasteless slice and sighed. All he wanted to do was sleep. He craved a deep, dreamless sleep, something that would fix all of this. Fix his entire, fucked-up life.

The conversation lulled, and Nero looked up to find both Dante and the demoness watching him with concern. The teen realized he'd buried his talons deeply into the desktop, and hastily removed them. Trish offered a slight smile, setting down the knife. He wondered how she could look so motherly and still be an elegant, ruthless killer at the same time.

"Nero," she began, her voice smooth as silk. "We'll figure this out. Don't worry so much."

_Oh great, now they're feeling sorry for me. _The teen tensed at her words, pissed off by her sentiment. It wasn't fair, he knew; Trish had done nothing but try to help. She'd driven for hours to see to him. Nero picked up one of the vials of holy water and rolled it in his palm, his claws clicking against the crystal. An irrational, stupid rage was beginning to lick at his insides.

"Easy for you to say," he muttered, hating how he sounded like nothing more than a spoiled brat. Damn them both for being so fucking understanding.

"C'mon, kid. You know we'll help. But you gotta give us all the information. We can't work blind." Dante reached for his shoulder, but Nero flinched away.

"Fuck off," he hissed.

"Nero," Dante started, actually deigning to use his name. "I know it's not your style, but we need you to cooperate." He laughed unpleasantly. "Or-"

"Or what?" Nero snarled, knowing he was being childish, and an asshole, but unable to stop himself. "You'll bend me over the dryer again? Teach me some manners? Shove Alastor all the way through me?" The teen ignored Trish's bemused look, keeping his eyes on Dante. The slayer looked unhappy and exasperated, but not the least bit angry. He and Trish exchanged glances before refocusing on the teen.

"Listen to yourself, Nero. You're distressed, we get that. But-"

Irritated, Nero lobbed the crystal of holy water at the slayer. It shattered against Dante's chest, flooding the office with searing white light. Nero winced at its brightness as he felt some of the water that hadn't saturated Dante splash on his bare arms. It was strangely warm on his skin for a moment, and then it began to burn like acid. The teen heard a sound that reminded him of a wounded animal, and realized that it was coming from him. He saw Dante, his shirt soaked, watching him with an expression that quickly changed from puzzlement to horror.

The holy water burned Nero. Not physically, although agony wracked through his limbs as well. The pain was white hot, deep in his chest and all around him, wrapping the youth in a cocoon of searing light. He thought he saw Dante and Trish reach for him, but coherence was beyond him at that point. He might have convulsed, or maybe someone had picked him up. Nero couldn't tell. It felt like he was on fire. All of him. Everything that made him Nero, from his human body to his devil arm, was being eaten away by a flame he could not see, much less fight.

It hurt. It hurt and hurt and the pain would not stop and he felt like he was bleeding out, onto the floor, and that liquid fire had replaced the blood in his veins. Nero screamed and thrashed and flailed; his vision completely white, static roaring in his ears.

He couldn't tell how long it lasted, although it seemed like an eternity. The white of his vision gradually coalesced into squares of pale tile. Nero stared stupidly, realizing he was soaking wet. _The shower? Or I pissed myself…_ Pain swept the thoughts away before he could really focus on them. His body would not obey him, continuing to thrash and convulse as though he were having an epileptic seizure. The teen felt something forced between his clenched teeth, and he wanted to scream again but his throat wouldn't let him. Water continued to flow over him, removing the sizzling sensation from his skin but leaving the ache that went all the way through him.

Nero could hear himself breathing raggedly, his exhalations sounding more like sobs than anything else. He was being restrained, he could tell, and he _hated_ it, but he really couldn't think of how he could stop it from happening. He turned his head a bit, finding his face pressed against black leather and warm flesh. Someone had their arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, keeping him from smashing his face into the taps and tile wall of the shower stall. A heavy weight was draped across his back and legs; the pressure intense but nothing compared to his previous agony.

"The cycles are getting further apart. We might be able to get out of the shower now, before the next one hits. There's no way there's any holy water left on his skin or clothes." _Trish_, Nero's hazy brain supplied. Trish's smooth, honey-coated voice sounded right near his ear. Nero looked up, his eyes refusing to focus but still able to make out the swell of Trish's full breasts pressed against his face. The demoness' arms were wrapped around him, and he seemed to be lying on the rest of her leather-clad body. Nero might have been embarrassed, if it hadn't been too exhausting _being_ anything at all.

The pressure on his legs lifted a second later, and someone grabbed him around the waist to pick him up. The room spun for a moment, and Nero realized that now he was on the bathroom floor, a drenched Dante seated to his left. A rustle on his right directed his attention there, and he caught a glimpse of Trish fixing her bodice more firmly over her breasts. The demoness looked as much like a drowned rat as a gorgeous, curvy woman could; her blonde hair hung straggly around her face, and she was wiping blood from her nose. She looked Nero over, and turned to Dante.

"How long do you think he has?" She asked, kneeling beside the teen.

"Before the convulsions start again? Maybe a couple minutes." Dante reached for Nero's face, and the teen flinched away involuntarily. "He seems to be more aware, now." Dante's fingers went to Nero's mouth and gently pulled a strip of leather from it. "Can you hear me, kid?" He held up the leather; it might've been a strap from a holster. "This was so you didn't bite through your tongue. I'll have to put it back in a minute."

Nero nodded, trying to will himself to sit up. "Wha…? What just happened? Did I attack you?" Talking was difficult; the teen found himself out of breath simply from speaking. His arms and legs shook as a tremor ran through him. Dante pressed one hand firmly to the youth's chest to keep him on the floor.

"No, this wasn't like that. You threw holy water on me, maybe as a joke. Only it splashed on you too, and well… It actually affected you, like it would a full-blood demon. That's why you're having convulsions. We managed to get it off you before you started to haemorrhage internally, but the residual effects will last for a bit."

"Hurts," Nero muttered, trying to focus on the slayer's face as the room seemed to lurch again. He felt, rather than saw, Dante reach down to straighten out his legs and pull off his saturated boots.

"You'll be less likely to hurt yourself if we don't restrain you. We only did 'cause you would've smashed yourself up in the shower." Dante flicked his hair out of his eyes, beginning to unlace his own soaked footwear.

"Did he ever have this kind of reaction before?" Trish rose to her feet with a squelching sound and seated herself on the counter, crossing her long, elegant legs. She wound her hair around her hands in a half-hearted attempt to wring it out. Nero thought he heard concern in the demoness' voice, and couldn't decide whether that was sad or funny.

"He's never gotten hit with holy water, as far as I remember. I've only used it once in the past few months, and none of it touched him then. He even went to the church to get this batch; he would've mentioned anything strange. I think he carried some with him in Fortuna." The teen could hear Dante talking, but could no longer find the source of the sound. It was like being surrounded by disembodied voices in some sort of hideous hallucination.

"But you didn't ask?"

"Why would I? I needed holy water; he went and got it. I didn't think about it after that." There was pressure on his chest once more; had he tried to sit up again? Warm hands held him down on the cold tile floor.

When Trish spoke next, she sounded a lot closer. "He's starting to shake again," she muttered. Nero tried to focus on her, but it was getting more and more difficult. It took all of his concentration to follow the conversation. The demoness was still talking. "We've got another minute before the convulsions start. Should we move him somewhere else? Maybe onto a bed?"

The world spasmed again, and Nero fought for clarity. He could just barely make out a vague outline in front of him, coloured red and black and white. _Dante_, he decided. A wave of vertigo swept over Nero as he was picked up effortlessly. A moment later he was deposited in the middle of the slayer's bed. Agony wracked through him, and he could barely breathe because of it.

He caught a whiff of leather, and someone fumbled at his mouth, sliding the strap between his teeth. Nero felt his limbs start to tremble, and someone spoke to him, although the words were lost in static. His suffering intensified; a slow burn that began in his heart and spread outwards to his fingertips before rushing down his legs. He thought he heard someone speaking to him again, but a moment later the fiery pain reached his head, and he couldn't think at all.

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Reviews help me write, so, um, if you wouldn't mind leaving one? :D


	10. Nothing

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence and sexual themes. Unrequited Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be canon femslash and a lot more swearing, lol.

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate it!

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Chapter Ten: Nothing

Nero woke up slowly, his mind gradually drifting towards consciousness. He felt weak as a half-drowned kitten, his limbs lying limp and heavy on the mattress. He didn't try to move; he wasn't even sure that he could. The pillow under his head felt softer and more expensive than his own, and smelled strongly of Dante's weird strawberry shampoo. The realization that he was in the slayer's bed brought Nero forcibly out of his doze, and he managed to open his eyes.

Of course, opening one's eyes and getting them to focus were two entirely different things. Nero blinked sleepily, trying to perceive the room around him. For one horrifying moment, he thought he'd gone blind, but eventually his vision cleared and he could see in the dim light. A small lamp was illuminating the area around the nightstand. A rustle to his left made him turn his head, and he realized Dante was beside him in the bed, seated against the headboard.

"Awake, kid?" the hunter asked, conversationally and a bit too casually, given recent events. He was wearing an old pair of black sweatpants and a faded red t-shirt that stretched taut over his muscular chest. A catalogue selling firearms was opened over his thighs, and Nero couldn't help but notice that Ivory had been carefully placed on the nightstand, within easy reach. The teen couldn't decide whether to he was bothered by that or not. It seemed like common sense to be armed around him, especially if no one knew the next time he'd try to maim someone.

"Yeah," Nero growled, surprised at the rasp in his voice. He must have hurt his throat screaming. He lifted his head carefully, worried that the room would spin. It did. Horribly.

"Feeling better?" Dante asked, watching him with eyes that gleamed silver in the twilight of the room. He lifted his arms and stretched wearily before reaching down and brushing Nero's hair off his face. The gesture was so natural it seemed apparent that Dante hadn't been thinking. The youth tensed immediately, and Dante froze for a second as well, realizing what he'd done. He smirked at Nero, slowly and deliberately removing his hand. The teen sighed, wondering when he'd started holding his breath.

"I don't feel like I'm on fire anymore, so yeah. I guess. How long was I out?" Nero was surprised at how steady he managed to keep his voice. All his nerves seemed overwrought by Dante's touch. He decided it would be best to just ignore the old pervert, despite the fact that he felt better when Dante's hands were on him. _Wait, no, that's not right. Just ignore. Ignore. _

The slayer was radiating heat, right next to him. Nero remembered how the older man had looked after him when he'd been nearly delirious with pain. _Why would he have bothered? _The temptation to simply forget about resisting Dante and shuffle closer to the hunter reared up in his mind before Nero could stop it. It wasn't as though he'd be refused. Wouldn't he have taken Dante up on his offers long before this, if he hadn't started going crazy? _Now he'll just think the holy water fried my mind even more. It's not that unlikely. Don't seizures cause brain damage? _

"You've slept about thirty hours, I think. It's a little after ten at night, and it's tomorrow, now," Dante was talking, responding to his question. Nero forced himself to focus, rolling his eyes at the older half-devil. He hissed softly at the motion; even so small a gesture hurt. Dante shifted gingerly on the bed, tucking his legs up. "Think you can get up?"

"I'll try." The ex-Knight attempted to rise, pushing himself up off the bed with shaking arms. He promptly collapsed back onto the pillow with a thump, wishing he could just sink into the feather mattress. "Maybe I'll just stay here," he mumbled into the comforter. Dante snorted, picking up his magazine and flipping through the pages. The rustle of the paper grated on Nero's ears, and he grit his teeth, trying to block it out. The teen fluffed the pillow up to block the sound.

He was almost asleep again, basking (_no!_) in the slayer's warm scent, when a thought forced him awake. "Shit. The mission. Lady's gonna be so pissed."

"Despite what Lady says, it can wait. And you weren't going anyway. Trish will help her." Dante turned a page, stifling a yawn.

"They'll need back up, though. You can't send them in there alone." Arguing this point was futile of course. Dante had been adamant about not going back to the tower. Nero closed his eyes and found himself immersed in the vivid memory: being shoved hard against the brick wall, freezing rain soaking him to the skin, Dante looking older and more exhausted than he'd ever seen him… That had only been a couple nights ago. It seemed like an eternity. The ex-Knight shifted as best he could, settling so that he was facing the hunter.

"I'm not _sending_ them anywhere," Dante muttered. "As if I could. Hell, give me that kind of power and I'd send her right back out the damn door when she comes lookin' for cash. Lady accepted the mission; she can handle it."

"She accepted it thinking she'd have us to help her." Nero's tone implied that, despite rampant personality clashes, they _were_ all friends, and needed to watch each other's backs. He tried to prop himself up on one elbow, wanting to get a better view of the hunter's face. _Not that I can read his moods anyway, but…_ It was useless, and Nero let himself sink back into the pillow. He ached to the very marrow of his bones.

"And there's nothing stopping her from backing out." Irritation laced Dante's voice, but it was mild. He began to shred the magazine on his lap, tearing the paper into tiny strips.

"You know she'd never do that. Do you want her to get hurt?" Nero continued, sleepy but still wanting to prove a point. Devil-hunting was their job, and it pissed him off when Dante refused to do it. It wasn't as though Nero could help the women; at the moment, he could barely work up the energy for this verbal sparring match with the slayer. He realized abruptly that he was deliberately trying to pick a fight, and bit his lip to keep from saying anything else. _What am I doing, exactly? _

Dante smacked him upside the head with his rolled-up magazine. "Don't be an idiot, kid. Trish'll look after her, not that Lady needs it. I doubt there's much of anything left in that tower." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Though your loyalty to the little terrorist is commendable. I might have to remind her of that next time she wants a seventy-percent cut of our pay."

Nero exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. He couldn't even muster the force necessary to form a fist and retaliate, so why was he trying to piss Dante off? Dante was staying up in his cramped bedroom to look after him, and Nero seemed to be subconsciously trying to start a raging argument out of a minor disagreement. He didn't like the fact that Dante didn't want him to help with the mission, but it wasn't that big of a deal. If the ex-Knight could be sure that he wouldn't suddenly lose it and attack blindly, he would've gone with the women in a second, no matter what Dante said. As it was, he thought he was doing well just being able to lift his head off the pillow enough to look at the slayer.

"Is Trish alright? I didn't attack you guys, did I?" Nero threw the questions out as a peace-offering, trying to get his thoughts under control. His sleepiness made it difficult, but Dante seemed glad to change the subject.

"She's tough as a boiled owl, and heals as fast as me. You didn't try to fight us, just flailed. You were hurting pretty badly." Dante gave him a once-over, the casual appraisal making Nero want to blush with embarrassment. He hated that the slayer had seen him in such a pathetic state. _Although, right now, I'm not doing so great either._

"Bawled my eyes out, huh?" Nero could only imagine his reaction, and fought the urge to cringe. He'd probably thrown-up on them, or something else equally gross and humiliating.

"No," Dante said flatly, as if he didn't really want to think about this. "You didn't cry at all."

_Fuck. But that means… _That statement, and its implications, gave Nero pause. He felt a quivery sensation in his stomach, as though he was going to retch from nervousness. The teen pushed his face into the pillow to hide from Dante's damning gaze. He should've cried, machismo or no, from the amount of pain he'd been in. It would've been a normal response, a _human_ response. The teen tried to shuffle further away from the slayer, part of him wondering why Dante bothered with him at all. He inhaled the warm scent on the pillow, wishing he could just disappear.

A moment later, Nero felt gentle fingers entwine in his hair. He waited for them to clench into a fist and yank his head up, demanding an explanation, or an apology, or something, but it never happened. The teen repressed a sigh and managed to not lean into the touch too much. He had to admit, Dante's hands felt good, and always had. _Shit. Way to go not resisting perverts. You know it's just a game to him; one that he wins as soon as you give in. Like you're doing. Right now. _Nero debated whether or not to stomp on his inner voice.

"Kid? Are you listening?" Dante's voice broke through Nero's musings. The youth wondered how long the other man had been talking to him. The hand left his hair, and Nero turned his face back to the other man, knowing he was probably red as a beet. He didn't want to talk to Dante about this; his reaction to the holy water was bad, probably as bad as his dissociative episodes. Things were getting unpleasantly intense and progressively worse. He didn't know what was happening to him, and for the first time, he didn't want to know. Nero realized that Dante had started and stopped speaking again and was now looking at him as if debating whether or not Nero was going to lunge at his throat.

"What's with the catalogue?" He floundered awkwardly, suddenly desperate to change the subject and save the situation. "Don't you have enough guns? I thought most of your weaponry was imported from hell, anyway," the ex-Knight added sarcastically.

Dante made as if to hit him with the magazine again, but seemed willing to play along. He apparently disliked contemplating Nero's illness as much as the teen did. "I was thinking of buying another for you, if you behaved yourself." He ignored Nero's dubious look and continued, words spilling out as though he'd rehearsed them. "Blue Rose is a bit of a bitch to reload, right? You have to admit that a double-barrelled revolver is kinda unwieldy. And while I'm all for the unique old-school models, you do need something that we can fix up to reload itself, like my handguns."

Nero felt his insides warm pleasantly. _There he goes being too-nice again. Probably wants a fuck in exchange. _The teen pushed the negative thoughts away, trying to make himself feel genuinely happy that the slayer would find a new weapon for him. If Dante was buying him a gun, it would seem that the older man was planning on him getting better. He relaxed almost immediately after that, calming down so quickly that even Dante noticed.

"Easy to please, huh kid?" He laughed, one hand reaching out to shove Nero's shoulder playfully.

"Fuck you," Nero growled half-heartedly, too tired to fight back. A moment later, he was asleep again.

* * *

"And then what, Dante? You'll keep him as a pet?" Lady's voice rang loud and clear throughout the entire office, and Nero lifted his head, looking around blearily. He was still in Dante's room, wrapped in blankets that were saturated with the half-devil's scent. Golden sunlight was flooding in through the window, and from the angle it looked to be morning. He was alone in the bed, although the others probably weren't too far away. Lady had enough volume to be in the same room.

The teen listened carefully, but he couldn't make out Dante's muffled reply. He sat up gingerly, his muscles still tense and aching. He wasn't sure his legs would hold him at first, but he was able to stand without clutching the headboard for support after a minute or two. He padded softly out of the room, determined to take a long, hot shower. _Hopefully without the convulsions, this time_. Nero cracked open the door slowly, his curiosity peaked by the conversation happening downstairs. He decided it wasn't really eavesdropping if they were talking about him, and crept quietly down the hall towards the stairs. The bathroom door was right there, anyway.

"You have to admit, it looks bad," Lady continued, speaking more calmly now. "I was hoping we could find something to help him, but the way you describe his reaction to holy water, I'm not so sure we can. Didn't Ver-"

"Don't say his name," Dante's voice hissed, cold as ice. "This is nothing like that. They're not the same." Nero heard heavy footsteps; someone, probably the slayer, was pacing across the floorboards.

"That contradicts your earlier suspicions, Dante. Why else were you keeping him away from the Temen-ni-gru?" It was Lady again. He heard the muted clink of metal-on-metal. She was counting out rounds; never a good sign with her.

Dante growled something that Nero couldn't quite hear, and Trish spoke up suddenly, her honey-coated voice soothing and placating.

"We'll do our best for him, Dante. We don't want to see Nero hurt any more than you do. But Lady's right. He's dangerous. And it might get to the point where-"

"We're not discussing this," Dante snarled, interrupting again. "Don't you two have a mission?"

Lady sounded both irritated and resigned. "Yeah, no thanks to you. We plan to be back before nightfall. I'd tell you to come find us if we don't return on time, but I know there'd be no point." There was the stomp of Lady's combat boots, and the clatter of Trish's heels across the floor, and then Nero heard the heavy office doors slam shut. Dante swore so softly that Nero almost couldn't make out the words, and, to judge by the sounds, went to sit at his desk.

The ex-Knight shakily released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He honestly didn't know what to make of what he'd heard. Would they really just shoot him, if that's what it came down to? Just throw him away like Credo had? Nero didn't even know if he'd blame them if they did. He pulled open the bathroom door and started the shower running. His boots were still on the floor where Dante had tossed them, and there were a few blood splatters on the tile. He splashed them away with a fistful of water.

He showered swiftly, rinsing the sweat off his skin. Nero felt like he was in a daze, and not just because he'd been in bed for an undetermined but definitely substantial amount of time. The teen's thoughts were awhirl, and he nearly wrenched the taps off the wall as he turned off the water. He towelled himself dry carelessly, and wrapped the fabric around his waist to make the dash back to his own room.

Nero yanked open the bathroom's entrance and ran smack into Dante, who was just in the process of raising his hand to knock (or, smash) at the door. He stumbled back a step, clutching convulsively at his towel. The slayer filled the doorway, blocking the passage to Nero's room.

"What do you want?" He snarled before he could stop himself. A bitter-tasting rage was threatening to envelope him, and Nero fought it down. Dante looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then folded his arms across his leather-clad chest.

"How much did you hear, kid?" He asked, watching Nero carefully. The man obviously paid closer attention to his surroundings than he ever let on. Anyone who thought Dante was all brawn and no brains probably met with a swift, blood-soaked death. The teen couldn't read Dante's expression. He ducked his head even as he stepped close to shoulder the man aside. It was pointless; Dante braced his feet and didn't even have to take a step back to keep his balance. The slayer caught him by the biceps, containing the weakened younger man easily. "Kid, don't think that-"

"I heard enough, Dante," Nero spat. "Get out of my way." He lifted his hands, clenched into fists, to begin to struggle. And strangely, Dante let him go, releasing his hold so swiftly that the teen stumbled. To his further amazement, the slayer stepped aside, clearing the path to the hall. His too-pale eyes seemed uneasy, and he started to reach for the teen again.

"Don't," Nero hissed, slipping away from the other man's hands and out of the room. He reached his bedroom a moment later and slammed the door shut behind him.

* * *

Whew, that was all over the place, lol. If you're reading this story, please review. Or PM me, if you don't want to comment publicly. 'Cause feedback gives me warm fuzzies, and warm fuzzies eventually turn into chapters filled with smut. :D


	11. Things Eternal

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence and sexual themes. Unrequited Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be canon femslash and a lot more swearing, lol.

Thanks for all the support; it means a lot to me when people take the time to send feedback. :)

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Things Eternal

Nero slammed his fist into the wall, sending plaster flying. He'd managed to repress the howl of fury that threatened to escape his throat, and just barely stopped himself from completely trashing his bedroom. _No need to act like a complete psycho, even if you are one. Fuck. _The teen hit the wall once more, willing himself to calm down. He collapsed on his rumpled bed sheets, watching the cuts on the knuckles of his human hand slowly close. He didn't know how long he stayed there, but the droplets of blood were long dried to powder before he climbed to his feet.

He dreaded the time when he'd have to face Dante again. It would be hard enough to look at Lady, but her reaction to his situation wasn't entirely unexpected. Her loyalties were ultimately with humanity, and he knew without asking that if he became a threat to humans, she would destroy him. The fact that they'd been friends, or that this wasn't his fault, would not affect her decision. Nero understood that. He believed that he could forgive her for it. It wasn't as though it would be personal, if it was Lady that put an end to his madness.

If it was Dante though, he'd be pissed. If Dante spent three months hitting on him and then shot him the moment things went completely bad, Nero would drag himself out of Hell to put the bastard in his place. _Get a grip. You're not to that point yet. And neither are they. There's still time to figure this out._ It was running out though. Nero knew his episodes were getting increasingly violent and longer in length. His friends would eventually have to deal with him, one way or another. _At least they waited to have a reason to get rid of you. Unlike Credo…_

The ex-Knight heaved a sigh, scratching the dried blood off his hands. He dropped his damp towel and picked through the clean laundry that had been carelessly tossed on his bed. He never folded anything. Ever. Nero tugged on boxers and jeans, and was pulling a faded black tank top over his head when he heard the door to his room open. He didn't bother turning to look at Dante, instead picking up a blue hoodie to wear. Nero had one arm into it when he realized there was a large slice in the fabric, its edges darkened and melted as though it'd been cut with a blade glowing white hot. _Alastor. Of course._

"What do you want?" He snarled at the half-devil, who'd apparently changed his mind about leaving Nero alone. The teen dropped the damaged garment to the floor and kicked it towards the garbage can. He refused to look at Dante, instead rummaging through the clean clothes for something else to wear. He heard footsteps approach him, Dante's heavy boots scuffing across the wooden floor. Nero found a red hoodie, yanked it on, and whirled in time to see Dante eyeing his choice appreciatively.

Nero scowled at him, but Dante seemed indifferent. The tall man took a step back, his pale eyes roaming Nero's lanky frame. The guy just never stopped. He was always watching him, touching him; Nero was more than tired of it. Dante never gave any indication that he wanted anything more from Nero than a quick fuck. _That's not true. He's your friend. He's tried to help you. He let you live here, he finds you jobs, he stayed with you when you were sick. You owe him big time._ Nero gulped a bit at the last thought, quickly pushing it out of his mind. He glared at Dante, realizing he'd asked the older man the same question before. It still hadn't been answered.

Dante ran a hand through his snowy hair. For all his earlier ogling, he looked concerned as he gazed at the teen. Nero met his glance with a hard stare, waiting for the hunter to speak. He noticed that Dante had his guns with him, and wondered if he would be finished off then and there. Like the slayer, Nero could survive getting shot. But he'd never been shot in the head before, and if it was done execution-style, through the base of his skull, he knew he'd never heal in time. Even with devil-blood, his body could only take so much punishment before it gave up on him.

Dante followed Nero's gaze to the pistols, and the teen saw his eyes widen for a second. "Kid, I'm not gonna shoot you, if that's what you're wondering. I mean, even Lady-"

"I heard what you guys discussed," Nero blurted, annoyed that the hunter would lie about something like this. If they did decide to kill him, he'd want to know beforehand. There was no dignity in being shot unawares, like some poor beast sent to slaughter. The youth took a step closer to Dante, not noticing the anguished look on the other man's face. "I get it. I'm dangerous, a hazard to innocent people. Fuck, you don't have to pretend that you won't take care of the problem. I mean, if you could off your own brother, then you shouldn't have any trouble-"

The back of Nero's head connected with the floor so hard he saw stars. Dante clenched his hands in the collar of Nero's hoodie, his full weight resting on the teen's chest. The older man's eyes were stony, and he glowered down at the ex-Knight. Nero gasped for air, his bare feet sliding across the floor, unable to gain purchase. Dante straddled the youth's upper body, pinning Nero's arms beneath him. Nero struggled, but he couldn't find any leverage to flip the heavier man off of him. He managed to sink the claws of his devilbringer into Dante's thigh, but the slayer ignored him.

"You shouldn't talk about things that you don't understand," Dante hissed. "If you would stop being such a blind, fucking idiot for a minute, you'd know I'm trying to help you." The half-devil's eyes flickered red for a moment, but he quickly regained control. "You're pissing me off, Nero, and I can't even be sure if it's entirely your fault."

Nero snorted contemptuously. "You can say whatever you like, Dante. You know how this is going to end." Dante looked, well, he wasn't quite sure how Dante looked at his words, although deeply unhappy might've been a good guess. Nero felt his annoyance draining away, only to have it replaced with resignation. He glanced away from the hunter, trying not to feel betrayed when he so obviously hadn't been. _Yet,_ his mind supplied. _They haven't betrayed you yet. _

The youth sighed, feeling Dante shift his weight so that he wasn't completely crushing Nero's lungs. He let his claws slide out of the slayer's skin, warm blood still coating the talons. Nero waited, completely unsure of where this was going. Dante was angry, he got that much, but the hunter's words still confused him. Of course all of this was Nero's fault. Who else's would it be? He was the one who'd lost his mind, who consistently picked fights, who couldn't reciprocate the trust that others gave him so willingly. He was the one who was messed up here, and even enraged, Dante should know that.

Nero felt the slayer's grip loosen, and a moment later callused hands were cupping his face. _Great. He can't just let it be a simple fight. He's always gotta try something. He'll just keep pestering me until I submit, or I'm too messed up in the head to care. _Nero squirmed beneath the half-devil, methodically working his hands free. _So why not just give in? You probably will anyway, eventually. _

"Kid?" Dante was watching him warily, and Nero wondered how long he'd been lost in his thoughts. Enough time had passed to concern the slayer, apparently, as Dante had one hand resting lightly on Ebony. Graceful fingers were sliding along the leather holster. Nero's irritation was back in a second.

"Not gonna shoot me, huh? Get off, asshole. I don't have time for this shit, in case you haven't noticed." Nero managed to pull his devilbringer free and swiped at Dante's face with his claws. The slayer leaned back to avoid the talons, then lunged forward to capture Nero's demonic arm and pin it to the floor. The teen snarled, starting to thrash again.

"Nero," Dante began. "Listen to me."

"Why, so you can tell more lies? Do you think I'm so stupid I don't know-"

"Kid, I-"

"If I let you fuck me, will you leave me the hell alone?" Nero wasn't quite sure that he'd meant to say _that_, but he was now too pissed off to care. He wanted to get this over and done with. There was no point in trying to delay the inevitable. He'd always known Dante would throw him away eventually.

"Shit. Nero, I…" Dante's voice faded to nothingness, and Nero felt a sick jolt of satisfaction at finally managing to make the loud-mouthed devil hunter speechless. His gaze slid to Dante's face, noting that the slayer wasn't returning his glare. Dante wasn't even looking at him at all; the man's too-pale eyes were fixed on the floor beside Nero. The hunter's jaw clenched, and Nero watched his throat move as he swallowed. Dante made no move to get up, and Nero drew in a shaky breath.

"That's what you want, isn't it? To screw me before I lose my mind completely and you can't stomach the thought of it anymore?"

Dante hit him abruptly, the force of the blow knocking Nero's head back into the floor once more. The teen tasted blood in his mouth, his ears ringing. He sneered up at the older man, unable to read the expression on Dante's face. He could see a flicker of red in the slayer's eyes again, but it seemed like Dante was fighting the urge to beat him senseless.

"So go ahead, Dante. I owe you this much, at the very least." Nero's head snapped to the side as Dante's fist found his jaw. The slayer had leaned back to punch to teen, and Nero was able to free his other arm. He grabbed the front of Dante's shirt, yanking him forward. With the hunter's weight no longer pinning him awkwardly, he had enough leverage to flip them both over.

Or at least, to make the attempt. Dante followed his motion forward, overpowering the teen with brute strength. Nero found himself immobilized again, this time with Dante's forearm bruising his throat. He growled at the man, his breath cut off too much to curse Dante out verbally.

Ice-blue eyes met his own darker ones, and Dante leaned in closer. His words were warm in Nero's ear. "Is that really what you think of me, kid? Do you think that I would _ever_ make that kind of demand, of anyone?" There was something slightly accusatory about the half-devil's voice. Nero turned away as best he could. Dante had a valid point, and as Nero regained more control over his thoughts and emotions, he realized he believed the other man. Not that it made Dante any less of a slut.

The youth relaxed, and Dante must've felt it, because he rolled off Nero and sat on the floor beside him, leaning against the bed. The man stretched out his long legs, his boots clunking heavily on the floor. Dante looked almost exasperated; Nero had seen a similar expression on his face when he was trying to collect their payment from clients who'd reneged on the deal. Nero heaved himself up to sit cross-legged nearby, rubbing at his throat.

"No. That's not what I think of you," he began awkwardly. "I know you don't coerce people into your bed. I mean hell, it's not like you need to," Nero muttered, thinking of the parade of lovers the half-devil entertained. Or, had entertained. When was the last time the hunter brought someone home with him? The teen tucked that idea aside to think about later. He scratched at his nose, a bit embarrassed at the whole situation now that he wasn't completely infuriated.

"But you do think I'll kill you, if I have to?" Dante asked, tugging Ivory out of her holster and sliding the clip from the bottom of the pistol. He carefully set the weapon and rounds on the floor and reached for Ebony to repeat the process. Nero couldn't decide how to interpret the actions. Unloading a gun didn't make it harmless; he'd watched Dante fieldstrip and reassemble the spiral rifle in less than a minute. Popping a clip back in only took a second.

"Yeah. But I'm right about that, aren't I?" Nero responded quietly, feeling the last of his anger slipping away. He clutched at it compulsively, but with another glance at the slayer, it glided away like a drift of smoke.

Dante sighed, watching Nero thoughtfully. "Yes. But," the half-devil seemed to be searching for words, "you'll know. I wouldn't just… shoot you in the dark, or something."

"Unless I'm completely beyond all comprehension," Nero was glad he didn't sound petulant anymore. He needed to grow the fuck up and deal with this, while he was thinking clearly.

Dante seemed to suppress a wince at the teen's words. A tiny movement of the slayer's shoulders was the only indication of it, but to Nero it showed up all the same. The ex-Knight searched the hunter's face, trying to read the other man. _Pointless, _he decided, _you'll never figure him out._ After a long moment, Dante appeared to give up on finding an appropriate response to the youth's words and acquiesced with a dip of his head.

"Get Lady to do it." The half-devil startled a bit at Nero's words, but nodded assent again without question. _He doesn't want to do it himself, _the teen realized, feeling a rush of warmth at the thought. Nero watched as Dante drew his legs in, shuffling closer to him. He didn't pull away, even when the half-devil was nearly leaning over him and the sudden irrational thought that Dante was going to hit him again appeared in his mind. The teen dropped his gaze to the floor, watching his talons click against the wooden boards.

At first, he didn't even register that a warm mouth was pressing against his own. Dante kissed him quickly and chastely, pulling away slightly before Nero's brain kicked into gear. The teen began shaking his head in protest even as he inadvertently wetted his lips.

"You can't do this to me," Nero began, even as Dante moved closer again. He lifted his fists, planning to clock the slayer a good one, but Dante caught his hands and yanked him forward. Nero had to follow to keep his balance, and suddenly found himself on Dante's lap, pressed firmly against the hunter. Dante released his arms, and Nero grasped the older man's shoulders, intending to push him away. The most appropriate response here would be to hit the old pervert, and demand to be left the hell alone. Nero hooked his claws into Dante's shirt and drew back his fist.

Warm, callused hands slid under his layers of clothing, rubbing his back soothingly. Nero felt his resolve falter, and fought the urge to melt into the touch. "You can't do this," he repeated, sounding far less authoritative than he'd intended. "You can't-" he muttered, finding Dante's lips on his once more. The kisses were a little different this time, soft touches pressed to his mouth and jaw. Nero turned his face away, resting his head on Dante's shoulder. "Don't," he murmured softly.

Dante chuckled, which Nero felt more than heard. "Why are you still on my lap then? I'm getting mixed messages here, kid." The ex-Knight felt himself flush, but realized Dante was right. The slayer wasn't holding him in place; he was free to leave. _What is wrong with you? Get off of him. Punch him while you're at it. _Nero sighed. He didn't want to move. He liked the feel of Dante's hands. _Of course you do, idiot. Lots of people probably do. _Nero shook the thoughts away. He felt Dante nuzzle at his throat, and a hot tongue slid slickly over his skin.

"You'd better not be thinking you owe me this, kid. If I find out that's the case, I'll…" Dante let the threat trail off unvoiced.

"It isn't," Nero muttered, refusing to look at the hunter. He knew his words would just bring that smug smirk to Dante's face, and then he really would punch the slayer. Dante would throw him away when he was finished with him, but Nero figured that he'd probably be bat-fuck crazy by that point anyway. And in the meantime, if those hands were making him feel better, then he'd be foolish to push them away. _Yeah, what a great plan for the future,_ the teen thought bitterly. _At least it won't have to last very long._

* * *

Comments and reviews are always appreciated. Feel free to PM me too if you'd prefer.


	12. I Shall

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence and sexual themes. Unrequited Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be canon femslash and a lot more swearing, lol.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! :D

* * *

Chapter Twelve: I Shall

Nero didn't move, basking in the feeling of Dante's warm hands roaming over his skin. He wasn't certain he'd made the right choice in submitting to the hunter, but to be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure about anything at all anymore. The teen could feel Dante's lips and tongue pressing against the cords of his neck, slowly descending to graze teeth along Nero's clavicle. The ex-Knight found himself hissing at the sensation, pressing closer to Dante. The slayer responded in kind, his hands sliding down to grip Nero's ass and pull him closer. A spike of arousal shot down the youth's spine, and for the first time, he glanced at the older man.

The slayer's blue eyes were dark and smoldering, and he returned Nero's gaze with such an intensity that the teen had to look away. Nero dropped his head back to Dante's shoulder, his plans of reciprocating the caresses dissipating. _You shouldn't be doing this._ The thought appeared abruptly in his mind, and the part of him that wasn't a half-crazed, hormonal teenager demanded that he acknowledge it. Something in the look Dante had given him triggered it; the hunter had let his guard down for an instant. Nero lifted his head to look at Dante again, but the moment had passed, and all he saw was the slayer, his lips bruised, looking far too smug.

Dante shifted forward suddenly, and Nero was flat on his back again, his legs looped loosely around the hunter's waist. Dante moved over him, holding himself up on his elbows, his weight pinning Nero in place. The teen growled softly, his hands finding the slayer's shoulders, getting ready to push him away. He was loath to lose control of this situation, when so much of his life seemed to be in ruins. Dante's hands slid under his clothes again, his touches just rough enough to set Nero's teeth on edge. The teen gasped when a hard kiss at his throat became a bite, and his fists found Dante's hair. He yanked at the white strands until the slayer relented and moved to face him.

"Is something wrong?" Dante muttered, nose-to-nose with the teen, and if that question didn't make Nero want to laugh hysterically, nothing would. The hunter squirmed a bit on top of Nero, smirking when the ex-Knight bit back a groan. "You aren't going to flip out on me, are you? If you feel an episode coming on, I'd like to know about it before hand. No sense in getting undressed if you're just going to try and maim me."

"Who said that anyone was getting undressed?" Nero snarled at the hunter's audacity. "You arrogant ass, I'm gonna rip you a new-"

"Whatever, kid. Your actions speak for themselves." To prove his point, Dante reached behind him and ran his palm over one of Nero's thighs. "You've got your legs wrapped around me, in case you haven't noticed."

"Temporary insanity," the teen mumbled, releasing Dante's hair.

The older man snorted at Nero's comment, his hands coming up to cradle the teen's face. His pale eyes pinioned the ex-Knight in place as easily as his weight held him on the floor. Nero tried to look away, feeling as though he were caught under a microscope, about to be dissected. He didn't know why Dante would bother trying to understand him. Maybe for posterity's sake, a memento of a crazed conquest long after Nero was dead and buried. Dante was frowning slightly, and Nero was sure the expression mirrored his own.

"What do you want, Nero?" Dante's tone of voice was utterly neutral. The teen resisted the urge to head-butt the slayer and make a break for it, and instead considered the question with the closest semblance to thoughtfulness that he possessed. He wanted a lot of things, not that the act of wanting them would get him anywhere. _To _not_ be crazy, for starters, that would solve a lot of the other issues._ Nero indulged in the idea for a moment. If he hadn't started having these episodes nearly two weeks ago, his life wouldn't be in such a mess. It would be business as usual, hunting demons, eating too much pizza, and trying to ignore the giant pervert he lived with.

It would've been okay, making a life here. Capulet City was certainly no Fortuna, but it had plenty of work in the bloodthirsty-slaughter department, which was Nero's preferred occupation, and it had Dante, and of course he'd wanted to stay with him. _Shit. Shit shit shit._ Nero's brain hastily tried to justify this unwanted revelation. It wasn't as though he'd had anywhere else to go. And he and Dante were the same; hadn't the slayer said that the first time they'd met? It was only natural for them to stay together. He couldn't possibly want Dante, not like_ that_. He could let Dante fuck him, he was willing to admit that much, but wanting anything more was inconceivably stupid. He'd seen with his own eyes the string of lovers that visited Dante, and he was quite certain he'd never seen the same face twice.

"Circuits fry?" Dante watched him with half-lidded eyes, his lips quirking slightly. Nero scowled at him, his thoughts interrupted.

"You're an asshole. I'm thinking. Try it, sometime."

Dante chuckled warmly, and Nero could feel the sound in his chest as much as he heard it in his ears. A light kiss was pressed to his throat, just under his jawbone, and the teen shivered involuntarily. Electricity sparked through his limbs, warmth pooling in his belly. Nero's hands found their way down Dante's back, fisting in the slayer's shirt in an attempt to pull the man closer. He caught himself just as he was about to roll his hips up to the other man's, realizing what he was doing.

"Is this your answer?" Dante smirked down at him. Nero glared back, his breath hitching only a little when another searing kiss touched his skin.

"Fuck you, old man. Didn't I tell you not to-" Nero was effectively silenced by Dante's mouth on his. He squirmed in protest, gasping when the hunter ground his hips onto Nero's. Dante's tongue slipped between his lips, startling a muffled groan out of the teen. Roughened hands slid down to his waist and beneath his shirt, one reaching underneath him to pull him closer to Dante, the other finding a nipple and pinching it hard. Dante kissed him with a fierce intensity until Nero wondered if his lips would split against the other man's teeth. He wasn't used to being touched like this, and the sensations streaming through his body brought as much discomfort as they did pleasure.

Nero pulled his face from Dante's, craving distance as much as oxygen. His breathing was completely out of control now, and Dante, instead of backing off, merely dropped his head to nuzzle along Nero's neck again. The teen yelped when Dante palmed his crotch, utterly mortified when his traitorous body bucked against the man's hand. He felt the lips against his throat curve into a smile, and a moment later he turned his head to see Dante grinning at him.

"You bastard," the teen growled. "You-" Dante's fingers slid to the zipper of Nero's jeans, stroking downwards with just enough force for Nero to lose his words. Nero didn't know what to think anymore. He couldn't gather his thoughts enough to form a coherent argument against letting Dante have him. The teen sighed shakily, closing his eyes as sensation began to take over.

* * *

"Well, I've never had that happen to me before." Dante's voice, panting with exertion, seemed forcedly cheerful. His face swam into focus in front of Nero's, the reek of gore scenting the room. "That… uh. That was a long one, kid. Shit."

Hands that had been locked in a bruising grip around his wrists released him, and Nero blinked blood out of his eyes, trying to see again. They were still on the floor of his bedroom, still half-entwined together, although their position was neither amorous nor affectionate. Nero's face was sticky with blood; his fingers coated a brighter crimson than Dante's trench coat.

The slayer himself was still bleeding; the froth bubbling at his lips and the harsh rattle of his breathing revealing extensive lung damage. Nero watched as Dante sat back on his heels and tugged the shredded remains of his shirt from his wounds. The teen winced to see the hunter casually push his exposed ribs back into place, the slippery clicking sound of the bones positioning themselves setting Nero's teeth on edge. The ex-Knight risked a glance at Dante's face and noted that the hunter's eyes were ringed with scarlet in response to the pain. Dante caught him looking and grinned, wiping blood off his lips with the back of his hand.

"Rip my heart out, why don't ya?" Dante joked, the laughter not quite reaching his eyes. Nero sat up slowly, looking around the room. The damage was surprisingly minimal. They'd knocked the dresser over, and a lamp was smashed on the floor, but the rest of the room was relatively intact. Completely spattered with blood, of course, but intact.

"Did I?" Nero held up his arms, stained from fingertip to elbow with gore.

"Close enough to it, kid. You seemed to have plans to get right up under my ribcage. For a minute there, I thought…" Dante trailed off, his gaze flicking to a point behind Nero. The teen followed the movement, wishing he hadn't. Ivory had been kicked across the room, far from its clip, but Ebony was reloaded and ready to kill.

"Thought you'd actually have to do it, huh?" Nero sounded petulant, and hated himself for it. He ultimately couldn't blame Dante for doing what he had to do; Nero had enough of a sense of duty to understand that. It didn't prevent him from wanting to, though. Part of him wanted to scream bitterly about how unfair all of this was, to make sure Dante knew how utterly awful he found this entire situation. _Pointless. He'd just tell you to grow up. No wonder he calls you 'kid' all the time. _

"You weren't yourself for a long time. I started to wonder if you were gone for good." Dante plucked another piece of shredded fabric from his injuries, looking thoughtful.

"How much longer would you've given me?" Nero asked without thinking, realizing after that he probably shouldn't have. He honestly didn't want to know.

"At least an entire day, kid. I'm not giving you up without a fight." Their eyes met again for a second, Dante staring at him with the same electric intensity Nero had noted earlier. The teen dropped his gaze back to the floor, scratching at his nose awkwardly.

"You're starting to sound awfully sentimental, old man. Maybe the loss of blood is harming your brain, affecting your decisions."

The slayer snorted in amusement, but Nero saw grief in his eyes. "Just because I don't want to, Nero, doesn't mean I won't."

There wasn't much Nero could say to that, and he rolled to his feet, staggering only a little. He rubbed at his wrists, knowing they'd be bruised for days. Dante stood up slowly, his hands covering his still-healing wounds. The hunter's eyes faded from crimson to their normal arctic blue, and when he looked at Nero his expression was unreadable. He opened his mouth as though he were going to say more, but a crash from downstairs alerted them to the return of the little bitch and her blonde friend.

"Get your ass down here now, Dante!" Lady shrieked, sounding both enraged and exhausted. Dante heaved a sigh, and without a backwards glance, headed to the hallway. Nero followed, ducking into the bathroom to wash off the blood as best he could. His reflection in the mirror looked utterly ghastly, soaked in blood and flecked with bits of bone. The teen splashed cold water over his face and hands, hoping it would clear his mind as much as his skin.

_I would've let him fuck me, if I hadn't lost it again. That's where that was going; what he would've wanted. _Nero barely stopped himself from smashing the mirror as rage started to lick at his insides. _Would've been fucked, then shot, probably. _The ex-Knight gripped the counter-top, trying to control himself. Part of him knew these thoughts were irrational, but it was excessively difficult to convince the rest of himself of this. Nero swore softly under his breath as the counter-top crumbled into his palm, and hastily left the room.

Dante was seated at his desk, looking as though he was debating whether to bind up Lady's wounds or strangle her with the bandages. The young woman had a nasty gash on one forearm, and a deep cut on the opposite shoulder, but looked otherwise unscathed from her trip to the Temen-ni-gru. Trish sat near her, dividing up their pay. Nero trudged down the stairs, ignoring the women's appraising glances. He settled on the couch, hoping to be beyond the range of Lady's wrath.

"We could've used your help today, asshole," the woman sneered, holding out her arm so Dante could clean the wound. "Do you know how many bodies I had to step over today? The police reports didn't take any street kids into consideration when they released their missing persons numbers. We only managed to get four live ones back down from the top of the tower, and one of those had died of her wounds before we reached the bottom levels. There were three nests full of Prides and Lusts, and at the top, there was some sort of fucking lightning demon, like-"

"A Blitz," Trish interjected smoothly. "It's unusual to have them here though." She glanced at Nero. "They prefer warmer, stormier climates. I'd never seen one until the Fortuna mission."

"Well, it was a pain in the ass, no matter where it was from," Lady continued. "And there was something else up there too. Here." She dug into an ammunition pouch and pulled out two small, metal rings, handing them to Dante. The slayer held them up to the light, cursing softly.

"Come see these, Nero." The teen rose up and walked over, holding out his hand. Dante tipped the rings onto his palm, and Nero flinched and almost dropped them. They were signet rings, finely crafted from the best silver available, and both emblazoned with the sigil seal of the Order of the Sword.

"They're not mine," he blurted, hating the feeling of dread that filled him. "I only have the one set, and it's not like I ever take them off. They're genuine, though; extra heavy silver, with the winged sword seal."

"Would they be keeping tabs on you, kid?" Dante asked, his tone grim.

"I don't know, I-"

"You also don't know why you can't go back there," Lady interrupted. "If you'd simply been banished, they wouldn't care enough to check on you."

"Lady, for fuck's sake, give it a rest," Dante spoke up, continuing to wrap Lady's wounds. Nero set the rings back on the table, glad to be rid of them. The brunette heaved a sigh but didn't apologize, and a heavy silence fell over the room. Trish was the first to break it.

"I want to test a theory," she announced. "And I might as well do it now. We need to go to the church, Dante. Nero's first episode occurred after collecting holy water for you; we should go to the church and see if anything's different about it. You've stolen it there often enough, without any adverse effects. I don't think there's a connection between them, but if we could rule it out, we could move on."

"Yeah, to our alternative theories of 'One: Nero's being stalked by a religious cult that might've broken his mind' and 'Two: Nero's turning into another Vergil'. Christ, I need a drink. It's been a long, fucking day." Lady tugged her arm from Dante's hands and headed for the kitchen. The slayer stared after her, his expression torn between bemusement and irritation.

"You guys talk about me all the time when I'm not around, don't you?" Nero muttered, trying to absorb Lady's words.

"Don't flatter yourself, kid. Not all the time." Dante smirked at him, but his eyes were troubled. "Let's go, Trish. It won't take very long, and we can pick up a pizza on the way back." The hunter seemed to be in a hurry to leave, and the demoness, after giving Nero a wary look, followed him out the door. Nero immediately decided he disliked being left alone with someone as trigger-happy as Lady. If the women had decided to take matters into their own hands and off him before things got worse, they'd certainly gotten Dante out of the way easily enough.

Nero ignored the urge to follow after Dante and instead trailed Lady into the ruined kitchen, finding the petite huntress picking through the cupboards in search of unbroken dishes. Lady adjusted her stance so that she could see him in her peripheral vision, but continued her quest without a word. Nero crossed the room to the fridge and grabbed a couple beers, tossing one at Lady's head. She caught it without looking, then turned to him, her arms folded over her chest.

"It's been a long day. Don't start," she muttered, not unkindly. Her deft fingers popped the tab on the can, and she drained half of it in one go.

"So, there were kids in the tower?" Nero asked, wishing he'd gone with her. He opened his beer and took a sip, eyeing the nasty wound on Lady's shoulder. She probably should've had stitches; he'd have to mention it to Trish.

"Yeah. It was bad." Lady paused, her mismatched eyes pinning Nero in place. "You don't know how lucky you are that those aren't your rings. I would've…"

"Done the right thing?"

Lady laughed bitterly, the sound nearly a sob. "Yeah. Fuck. I'm sorry."

Nero had a feeling they weren't talking about the rings anymore. He picked a bit of glass off the countertop and chucked it towards the garbage. "Don't be. You'll probably have to do it anyway. I mean-"

Lady held up her hands. "You don't have to say it, Nero. I'd rather you didn't." Her tone was as close to pleading as she ever got, and she hastily took another gulp of beer.

The ex-Knight nodded, taking another drink of his beer. They stood in companionable silence for a moment, the alcohol muffling the sharp edges of the situation. Nero felt cool liquid fizz over his hand, and glanced down to see that he'd put his talons through the thin metal of the can.

"Nero. Nero? Fucking shit…"

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Reviews are happily accepted. No, really. Please comment. Even if you just say 'hey'; there's a lot of people who have this on alerts, but I don't know if they're still reading or if they got lost along the way, lol.


	13. Last Forever

Doubt

Rated M for language, violence and sexual themes. Unrequited Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be more swearing, lol.

A/N: This chapter has issues. Content warning for violent smut (nearly dubcon). Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to their alerts and favourites. All feedback is appreciated. :D

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Chapter Thirteen: Last Forever

The first sound Nero became aware of was breathing. Hoarse, pained gasps, hitching and shallow, filled his ears. It was like being strangled, a tight, aching slide of air down into lungs that refused to fill. The wheezing continued, each inhalation accompanied with a shaky rattle, and as Nero focused on the sound, he realized it was coming from him. It hurt to breathe, and his regained awareness brought a wave of irrational panic. It filled his limbs with cold, making movement impossible, and for a moment he almost gave into it. A second later he managed to gather up the scraps that were apparently all that remained of his conscious brain, and force them into a coherent order. _Holy fuck, get a grip_, Nero urged himself, and opened his eyes.

Pain made the room hazy, but he could make out that he was back in his own bed. He was naked from the waist down; his flesh smeared with blood. The soreness of his wrists revealed that he was bound; his arms stretched up above his head and looped around the iron rungs of the headboard. A slender wire, glistening purple, cut into the flesh of his human hand and edged under the scales of his devilbringer. Electricity thrummed along it, the sensation not entirely unpleasant, and Nero realized that he'd been tied up with a guitar string from Nevan. He applied pressure experimentally, increasing the intensity until blood welled up around his wrists. It wouldn't be impossible to free himself, just messy and agonizing. The ex-Knight heaved a sigh, his half-healed lungs gurgling in protest. _I can escape, but where would I go? Crazy stays with you. _

Nero listened carefully, trying to pick out any noise other than his own ragged breathing. The building was silent; he heard a few cars passing in the street below, and the squawk of one of Capulet City's scruffy crows, but nothing more. The teen turned his head, glancing around the room. The walls were still spattered with dried blood from his and Dante's earlier fight, and the half-open window revealed a dusky night-time sky. The lamp on the bedside table had been hastily put upright, to judge by the smear of bloody fingerprints that marred its finish. A plate had been placed on the nightstand, holding nearly two dozen bullets.

The rounds were stained scarlet, their points blunted by impact. A set of tweezers lay beside them, the tips of the instrument covered in gore. _Those were dug out of someone_, Nero's hazy brain supplied. _Must've been me._ He forced his eyes to focus on the spent ammunition, trying to see whose it was. The bullets were a smaller calibre than anything he and Dante owned, and Trish carried guns mostly for show, so… _Lady. Shit. _

She had shot him; that much was obvious. And he'd probably deserved it, based on the situation he now found himself in. He'd lost it, in front of Lady, and a cold horror sank into the marrow of his bones as he considered the consequences of that. Lady was a fighter, deadly, swift, and agile, but if he'd caught her with his bringer, there wouldn't be anything she could do to save herself. She could best him in a gunfight, and she was fast enough keep up to him hand-to-hand, but there was no way she could've avoided a full-on assault. Especially just after she'd returned, wounded, from a day-long mission.

It was more than likely that he'd killed her. And that thought seemed more awful than the burning misery that peppered his lungs. Nero drew in another tortured breath, and waited.

He must've fallen back into sleep, or unconsciousness, or utter psychotic craziness, because when Nero opened his eyes again, it was because someone was screaming. Or two people, yelling haggardly, the sound muffled by the closed bedroom door. Nero held his breath for a moment in order to listen better. Dante's deep voice, passionately enraged, contrasted with Trish's coldly furious tone. Much of their argument was muffled by walls and distance, but it gradually gained in volume. They sounded as though they were headed his way, and soon the crash of someone's fist hitting the wall resounded just outside his door.

"This never should have happened, Dante." Trish's voice was icily calm, but there was an edge to it that Nero had never heard before. He was suddenly reminded of the fact that, no matter how pleasant she could be, she'd began existence as a creature crafted purely for the infliction of suffering. _You'd deserve it, though._

"You were the one who wanted to go to the church!" Dante's protestations somehow made Nero feel a little bit better. It was almost as though someone was actually on his side, for once. Maybe. Dante often defended him, but Nero was unsure how long that behaviour would last, especially if Lady had been badly hurt. Lady and Dante had been a team, however dysfunctional, for years. Nero had only known them both for what, a couple months? If loyalties of any sort became strained, Nero would not expect Dante to choose his well-being over Lady's. Ever.

"That's irrelevant. A poor decision, yes, but really, this should've been dealt with a long time ago."

"Yeah? And what about trying to help the kid, huh? How fair would it have been to him if we'd just shot him the first time it happened?" A strange, irrational hope welled up inside Nero, making the teen feel better than he had in weeks. It didn't soothe his aching lungs, but he could ignore that. The ex-Knight lifted his head a bit, trying to hear more of the conversation.

"You are so blinded by lust it's pathetic. Haven't you learned your lesson? You know the right thing to do here." It sounded like Dante tried to interrupt Trish's rant, but she raised her voice and continued. "How many people did you let Vergil kill before you stopped him? I've seen the police reports; thousands died. They say that blood flooded the gutters, and that corpses lined the streets. The rise of the Temen-ni-gru was preventable, Dante. All you had to do was-"

"Shut the fuck up, Trish." Dante growled. "Nero is nothing like that."

"Not yet. But how many will have to die before you grow a pair and do your damn duty? You'd think having your best friend get _mauled_ would-"

"Shut up. Just stop. I'll deal with this."

"You're sure about that?" It sounded as though one of them had moved to block the door, leaning their weight against it. "If you won't kill him for hurting Lady, then you won't kill him for anything. Get out of my way."

"I'll handle this." Dante sounded less angry than before, and Nero could hear the strain in his voice. "Just… give me a minute."

There was a long pause after that, and Nero had counted seventy-seven heartbeats before he heard Trish speak again, her tone cold and scathing. "You'd better take care of this, or I will. I'm going back to the hospital. Lady deserves better than to die alone in a fucking triage ward." There was a clatter of heels, and then only quiet. Nero was finding it hard to breathe again, and without thinking he tugged at the metal cord cutting into his arms, increasing the flow of blood oozing down them. _He _is_ going to kill me, after all._

The door opened slowly, and Nero turned to watch Dante enter. The hunter looked exhausted, and his dark clothing was rumpled. Nero wondered if he'd even attacked Lady today. It might have happened yesterday, or a year ago, or something. Dante didn't speak, merely walking in silence to the bed. His gaze, nearly crimson in the dim light of the room's only unbroken lamp, burned into Nero, and the teen swallowed uncomfortably.

"Is Lady-?"

Dante interrupted his question with an abrupt shake of his head, which Nero took to mean 'shut the fuck up about it.' The tall man crawled up onto the bed beside him, his face next to Nero's shoulder. He lifted one hand and caught Nero under the chin, forcing the teen to turn towards him. Nero managed to fight down his natural contrariness and acquiesced, his dark blue eyes flitting over the man beside him. Dante watched him carefully, his expression darkly contemplative.

The ex-Knight shifted uncomfortably against his bindings, and Dante reached up without looking. One graceful finger slid over the wire, and it slipped from Nero's arms with a tingle of static electricity. The teen immediately brought his hands forward and rubbed at his aching wrists, grateful for any distraction from the mixture of rage and grief emanating from the older slayer. Dante looked haunted, and Nero began to wonder just where this was going. He could feel the tension thrumming through the hunter's body, and the thought flickered through Nero's mind that this whole situation was about to crash down around him.

"I'm sorry about-" Nero's attempted and inadequate apology was cut short as Dante abruptly kissed him, forcing their mouths together hard enough to draw blood. Nero hissed at the sensation and shoved at the slayer, trying to pull away. Hands snaked into his hair, keeping him in place as Dante climbed on top of him. A hot, slick tongue invaded his mouth, and a burst of nonsensical, desperate arousal crashed through the teen's body even as a knee was roughly pushed between his thighs. _This is it,_ Nero's brain supplied, _this is the end of all of it. _

Nero squirmed uncomfortably, and Dante released his hair, sliding his hands down to rest on Nero's biceps. He gripped the teen's muscular arms tightly enough to bruise, ignoring Nero's growls of protest and pinning him down firmly. Dante finally broke the kiss, pulling away just enough to drop his mouth to Nero's throat. The ex-Knight gasped as Dante bit him harshly, licking and sucking at his pale skin. His mind was awhirl, too hazed with pain and arousal to fully comprehend the situation. Above him, Dante's body was a warm, comfortable weight, the slayer's presence alone enveloping him in desire.

"Dante," he muttered, "what-" Nero was silenced again as the hunter leaned up to kiss him harshly. He opened his eyes to watch the older man, startled and discomfited by the raw anguish revealed on his face. Rough fingers left his arms to trace red welts over his still-healing chest, and Nero bit back a yelp when Dante prodded a half-closed wound. He couldn't help but gasp in pain when the continued pressure tore the injury open again. The teen wasn't sure if the harm was deliberate, and decided he didn't want to know. He retaliated anyway, sliding his demonic hand under Dante's shirt and raking the claws of his bringer down the slayer's back. Skin split open under his fingers, the hooked tips of his talons catching on each vertebrae as he dragged his hand downwards.

In response, Dante snarled and ground his hips down onto Nero's, his hands twisting at the youth's flesh until Nero bled freely. His lungs ached, and he felt as though he could barely breathe. They rocked together, and Nero found himself clutching at the other man, trying to draw him closer. He didn't think he'd ever been this aroused before, and the cloying thought that Dante was trying to hurt him made it even worse. The man was pissed off beyond belief; enraged, upset, and more out of control than Nero had ever seen him. Part of the teen revelled in this; he felt a sense of sick satisfaction at the thought of Dante being, even for a moment, just as fucked up as he was himself.

Dante kissed him distractedly, fumbling with the zipper on Nero's jeans, and the youth tried to force the strange thoughts away and concentrate on the sensations coursing through his system. The slayer sat up for a moment, and before Nero was fully aware of what was happening, he'd been flipped onto his stomach and Dante was tugging his jeans and boxers down off his legs. The chill air against his heated flesh drove his mind back into focus, and Nero spent a moment trying to decide what the hell was happening here. _You're being punished for harming her. That's what this is about…_

Dante didn't give him time to contemplate the situation further, pressing against Nero's back and sliding his tongue down the teen's spine. The buckles of Dante's clothing dug into Nero's flesh, and calloused hands clutched at his hips in a bruising grip. The youth knew that if he wanted out of this, he'd better say so now, but his throat closed up around his words before they could be uttered. The troubling thought that maybe Dante wouldn't stop now, even if he did ask, etched itself into his brain. When Dante tugged at his hips, silently demanding, Nero got up on his knees, clenching his fists into the sheets.

The teen heard rustling behind him, the sound of a zipper being drawn downwards. He glanced back in time to see Dante spit into his palm, the hunter's eyes edged in scarlet. Nero gasped when two fingers were shoved inside of him, nearly bolting off the bed at the touch. He crouched lower and dropped his face to the pillow, suppressing the urge to keen at the intrusion. His breath hitched when Dante scissored and twisted the digits, removing them a moment later.

A warm weight pressed against his back again, Dante's hands sliding down the teen's sides and over his ass before returning to his hips. Nero could feel the hot length of Dante's arousal rub over his thighs before sliding up between his legs. There was a brief scratch of stubble between his shoulder blades as Dante placed a desperate, fumbling kiss on the teen's spine, and Nero tried to force himself to relax. He couldn't, and the splitting pain of being penetrated engulfed him before he could pull away.

Dante kneed his legs further apart, sinking deeper inside of Nero with an anguished groan. The teen could barely see straight; the mix of burning arousal and staggering pain, combined with the foreign sensation of being taken, was overwhelming Nero. Dante pulled away for a moment, then slammed back into him, nearly driving Nero into the headboard. The youth caught himself just in time to keep from clunking his skull into the bed's steel frame, leaning on his elbows and wrapping his hands around the metal.

The bed protested their movements, creaking as they rocked together. Dante fucked him hard, holding him close in a gesture that might have looked loving if not for the blood smeared over both of them. Nero couldn't speak, focused entirely on trying to breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and he knew his legs were shaking. Dante hadn't said a word since this began, and the man's emotional distance combined with the violent sex was beginning to wear the teen down. He pushed his face into the pillow, his neglected arousal burning between his legs, and bit his lip to keep from screaming at each hard thrust.

Nero didn't know how much time passed before Dante's rhythm became erratic, the sound of his heavy breathing punctuated with soft curses. The teen didn't care; pain sloshed together with pleasure, keeping him nearly incoherent. The curve of Dante's fingers wrapping around his erection shot an electric jolt through Nero, and with a few rough strokes, sent the teen reeling. Nero groaned, his voice hitching, as he came hard over the slayer's palm. His body, already tense, tightened around the older man, and Nero felt Dante's teeth catch in the muscle of his back even as his insides were soaked with warmth.

Neither moved for a few long minutes, and Nero gradually became more aware. He ached all over, and each rasping inhalation sent pain rushing through his chest. He wasn't sure if it was blood or semen trickling down his thigh, and he didn't want to know. The teen pressed his face deeper into the pillow, determined to stay there until Dante decided to leave, or kill him, or something. He felt the hunter pull away from him, and heard the rustle of cloth as Dante fastened his pants. Still, the bed dipped under the slayer's weight, and a hand touched the bite on Nero's back.

Nero ignored it, debating internally whether to get up and kick the shit out of Dante, or try to smother himself with the pillow. He didn't want the slayer anywhere near him right now; he just wanted time to gather his thoughts and figure out what the hell had just happened. He felt fingers thread into his hair briefly, then withdraw. Dante sighed, sounding desolate in the quiet of the room. There was a whisper of a breeze from outside the window, and then the click of a clip sliding into a gun. Nero jerked his head up in time to see Dante watching him mournfully.

"Sorry, kid."

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A/N: As always, your feedback is greedily devoured, so if you liked it, or hated it, or are indifferent and bored and yet somehow managed to read all the way through, please let me know. It makes me happy. :D


	14. Through Me

Doubt

This is rated M for language, violence, disturbing content, and sexual themes. Unrequited Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be more swearing, lol.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to their alerts and favourites. All feedback is appreciated. :D Welcome back to the most disorganized fic ever. I kind of want to re-write this whole chapter. :P

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Chapter Fourteen: Through Me

Nero said nothing, staring icily into Dante's pale eyes. Ivory was loaded, and the hunter held the gun before him in both hands, as though he might've raised it in supplication. The teen sat up slowly, taking his time. Most of the gunshot wounds on his chest had sewn themselves shut, although the ones that had ended up under Dante's prying fingers remained open and burning. The hunter reached out to touch them again, and Nero flinched back, a growl escaping his throat. He clenched his fists, driving nails and talons into his palms until he felt blood ooze under his fingernails.

"Fuck you," he hissed softly, using the headboard as a crutch as he awkwardly rose to his feet. Dante made no move to stop him; the slayer's fingers sliding over the detailing on the gun. Nero found his jeans and boxers crumpled at the foot of the bed, reached down to pick them up, and nearly fell over as the room spun around him. The teen staggered dizzily, and would've clunked his face into the bedpost had Dante not used his considerable reflexes and caught his shoulder. Nero tried to wrench his way out of the other man's grasp, throwing his weight away from the slayer. Dante let him go abruptly, and the youth crashed to the floor. _Fucking pathetic. _

Nero began a laborious climb to his feet, which Dante watched in silence. The ex-Knight scowled up at the older man, trying to come to grips with the situation he'd found himself in. He wondered if Dante was really as duplicitous as he appeared. _You knew this would happen. You knew it would, and you let it. You're as guilty as anyone else. Guiltier. _Nero was almost standing upright again when the floor rippled, rising up to meet him. He swore, trying to keep his balance, and felt powerful arms wrap around him.

The teen thrashed in Dante's grip, feeling his wounds tear further. The hunter grunted when the spiked elbow of Nero's devilbringer met his ribcage, but refused to let go. A moment later, Nero found himself seated on the bed. Dante stood in front of him, his hands resting on the youth's shoulders, holding him in place. His frosty gaze swept over the teen, lingering on the bruises he'd left. Nero waited for Dante to say something, but the room was silent save for his own ragged inhalations. When the normally loud-mouthed hunter had remained quiet for nearly three full minutes, Nero gave in to his anger and glowered at the man.

"Gonna shoot me now?" Ivory was beside him on the bed, abandoned by Dante when Nero had stumbled the first time. The older slayer let go of the teen's shoulders and took a step back, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, swallowing his words and infuriating Nero further. He leapt up and swung at Dante, aiming for the slayer's jaw in hopes of breaking it, but found his fist knocked away smoothly. Dante grabbed his wrist, and for a moment Nero thought he'd just snap the bones and be done with it.

"Don't," Dante hissed, his grip tightening threateningly. He let go before Nero could try to pull away, reaching around the teen to pick up the pistol. The teen watched him, nausea and rage vying for control of his insides. The hunter tucked the gun back into its holster and turned to face him. Nero wasn't reassured. It wasn't as though Dante had ever needed a gun to kill. The man was a lethal weapon all on his own, without even triggering.

"Are you?" Nero demanded again. The wounds on his chest felt scorched, and his mind refused to calm down. Rage and pain, remorse and lust whirled together in him, filling him up with sickness and despair. He didn't know what to do anymore; he couldn't even begin to describe the things wrong with him. Dante had finally done what he'd expected him to do, and despite predicting it, Nero felt less vindicated than traumatized. He glared at Dante, daring him to answer.

"Do you want me to?" The softly spoken words were uncharacteristic of the slayer, and Nero glanced at the older man. Dante stared back at him levelly, his tension betrayed only by the set of his jaw.

Nero considered it, how easy it would be to escape this whole situation. He'd be gone, and it would be done with. There'd be no more craziness, no blood-spattered rooms or wounded friends. It would be safer for everyone if he were out of the picture. He knew it was necessary with a bleak certainty, but he could not honestly say he wanted it to happen. There was enough of an enraged punk teen left in Nero to prevent him from willingly going to his death. It warred in his mind with the part of him that knew his duty, the Knight that would defend others with his last breath. Nero dropped his gaze to the floor, shaking his head.

"It doesn't matter what I want." He muttered, searching out patterns in the scarlet-stained floor. Part of him wished fervently for Lady. She'd know what to do, and would do it without balking. All it would take would be a couple well-placed bullets; a severed spinal cord would do him in, or massive lower-brain damage. His healing abilities weren't as swift as Dante's, and he suspected they'd be unable to cope with large amounts of trauma. Lady probably knew this, and he wondered why she'd chosen to shoot him in the chest. The wounds were painful, and slowed him down, but were nowhere near lethal. _Unless she couldn't bring herself to do it either… Look where that misplaced loyalty got her. _

"That isn't an answer." Dante's voice broke into the youth's musings, scattering his thoughts. The slayer seated himself on the bed, handing the teen his clothes. Nero bit back a snarl and accepted them wordlessly, quickly pulling them on. The movements aggravated his aching body and brought his thoughts back to the source of his irritation.

"Then what the fuck do you want to hear, Dante?" Nero's anger escaped him again. "No, I don't want to die. I don't want you to have to kill me. I hate this, all of this." Nero sank down onto the bed beside the older man, trying to calm his breathing in hopes that it would hurt less that way. "I mean, hell, I don't know how to fix this, but I do know how to stop it. What do you want, written permission or something?"

Dante watched him mournfully, his eyes troubled. He started to reach for the teen, then appeared to think better of it. "I'm sorry," he muttered, more to himself than to Nero. The youth glanced up at the words, trying to decipher the meaning.

"Yeah?" Nero replied, trying to keep the growl out his voice. He wondered if Dante would be the last person he'd ever see. It was beginning to look that way. He wiped his palms on his jeans, smearing them red with sweat and blood. _Look at that. You're scared. Like some stupid little kid. _"So what? You got what you wanted, so stop dragging this out," Nero blurted, watching to see if he'd succeeded in provoking the slayer. A warm hand touched his shoulder but he smacked it away.

"Just get on with it," he hissed, hating how his voice caught in his throat. "You know I deserve it now, at least. What are the odds that Lady will live through the night?" Nero spat, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. The fact that his friend was dying, and the knowledge that it was his fault, kept him from fleeing or fighting for his life. If Lady hadn't been hurt, Nero would've attacked Dante the second the hunter lifted a hand against him. Instead, he remained seated on the bed, his eyes fixed fiercely on the floor.

He felt the slayer rise to his feet, and heard the heavy footfall of his boots as he paced across the floor. Dante stopped at the window and opened it further, letting more cool night air drift into the room. A car cruised slowly down the street, its radio blaring out an old rock song, and in the distance sirens started to wail.

"Lady didn't blame you." The words were spoken so quietly that at first Nero wasn't sure he'd actually heard them correctly. "She's too good of a shot. She aimed to slow you down, not to kill you." Dante chuckled bitterly. "That's why I dug the bullets out of you, instead of just adding to them." Nero looked up in time to see Dante turn to face him, the slayer's eyes flickering nearly white in the dim light of the room. "If she'd tried to kill you and failed, I would've finished the job for her." The half-devil paused, studying Nero.

"You still think you should?" The ex-Knight asked.

Dante refused to answer, turning back to the window. Nero took his silence as an affirmative, gracelessly rising to his feet. He stalked towards the taller man with his hands clenched into fists, his thoughts scattered and reeling.

"So what's stopping you? The same worthless sense of loyalty that Lady has?"

The slayer whirled, backhanding Nero across the face and knocking him to the floor. "Damn it, Nero, would you just stop for a second and listen to yourself?" Dante growled, crouching down beside the prone teen. When Nero didn't bother trying to stand, the slayer settled cross-legged on the floor. He leaned over the teen, bracing himself on one arm. Nero brushed his bangs out of his eyes and scowled.

"This is bullshit, Dante," Nero swore, anger thickening his voice. Dante's gaze was intense and too close, and the teen fought the urge to crawl away from it. "You don't have to pretend to care; I'm not some girl that requires pillow-talk. Stop dawdling," he muttered, staring at what little he could see of the night-sky. "Do it before you have a fight on your hands."

Dante moved closer, reaching up and gently running his knuckles along the teen's jaw. "You won't win a fight with me," he stated quietly, reminding Nero of the sparring match that had destroyed their kitchen. That night felt like it had happened an eternity ago, instead of only a week. It seemed as though Dante had lost his obnoxious cheerfulness as swiftly as Nero had been stripped of his sanity.

"I shouldn't have to," he sighed, recalling his words from that night. Nero's memory of being smashed into the cupboard was especially vivid, as well as that of Dante pouncing on him and demanding to know what was wrong. The situation hadn't seemed as dire then. _Yeah, not until I went for a walk near the tower and Dante flipped out about it. He didn't call me crazy-pants anymore after that…_

The teen braced himself and finally met Dante's smouldering gaze. He studied the firm lines of the hunter's face, trying to read him. He couldn't decipher half of the emotions that flickered across the older man's countenance; he caught glimpses of rage and hatred and despair, but these were all eclipsed by grief. It was strangely disturbing to see these expressions on Dante, because for as long as Nero had known him, the slayer had always been irritatingly exuberant. Now he gazed at Nero, appearing both anguished and possessive.

The teen didn't pull away when Dante leaned in closer, pressing warmly against him. He didn't flinch when rough fingers threaded into his hair, or startle when they slid lower to wrap around his throat. Nero forced himself to continue staring into Dante too-pale eyes, refusing to look away no matter how uncomfortable and naked the intimacy of it made him feel. Dante's hands slid over his windpipe, the threat veiled by the caress, and Nero knew with a sudden jolt that he was about to die.

The slayer must've felt him tense, because the hands left his throat and moved to his back, stroking soothingly. Nero shook his head bitterly. "There's no point in trying to make this anything other than what it is, Dante," he stated, but then he didn't turn away when the half-devil moved to kiss him. Instead, he lifted his hands to the hunter's shoulders, pulling him closer. The teen opened his mouth to let Dante deepen the kiss, allowing the other man's tongue to touch his own.

Dante pushed him down until he was flat on his back on the wooden floorboards, straddling the teen's hips and bracing himself with one hand on either side of Nero's face. The teen grabbed fistfuls of Dante's shirt to keep his hands from shaking. Part of him insisted that he resist; that he should refuse Dante's touch no matter how calming it was this time. It screamed inside his brain, calling him a spineless bitch for essentially digging his own grave. The rest of him was too wracked by guilt to move. Nero closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax into Dante's caresses. Warm hands roamed over his bare chest, careful not to touch his wounds or leave additional bruises. Nero would've shared a few choice statements about the irony of _that_, but Dante kissed him insistently and he barely had enough air to breathe, let alone talk.

The slayer sat up for a moment and edged forward until he was sitting on Nero's chest, sending a sharp spike of pain through the youth's diaphragm. Nero gasped, inhaling shallowly, and felt Dante's hands slide back up to his throat. Calloused fingers ghosted along his trachea, and Nero swallowed reflexively, suddenly nervous. Dante was studying him again, rubbing along the cords of Nero's neck until the teen squirmed and coughed.

"What are you waiting for?" he rasped, his voice edged with a loathing he didn't honestly feel. He released Dante's shirt and dropped his arms to the floor, frowning up at the hunter. Dante's eyes flickered in the dim light, a hint of crimson glimmering in their depths. _The last face you'll ever see…_

Dante closed his fingers, and Nero's airflow was cut off abruptly. He tensed immediately, but managed to suppress his instinctive thrashing reaction. The ache in his lungs intensified into a shrieking need for oxygen, and his throat felt crushed in Dante's grip. Nero watched as more scarlet bled into Dante's eyes, his own vision starting to blur. He dug his talons and fingernails into the floor to keep himself from attempting to pry Dante's hands off of him.

Soon, Nero was no longer able to keep from struggling, his legs twisting and writhing as he gagged for air. He tried to focus on Dante's face, but his vision was darkening at the edges. The teen knew he was flailing now, scrabbling for purchase on the floorboards and trying to throw the slayer off him. He couldn't stop himself, his body reacting reflexively. Dante's face was suddenly closer to his own, his lips moving as though he was speaking. Nero couldn't hear anything but the roar of his blood and his own faltering heartbeats. His vision faded further, and then unexpectedly the pressure on his chest and wind-pipe was gone.

It hurt to breathe, but he could, taking as much air into his lungs as he could possibly inhale. The ex-Knight lay on his back on the floor, nearly hyperventilating. The haze left his sight, and he turned his head to the side to see Dante better. He couldn't focus his thoughts; his emotions ran rampant with his mind.

"You fucking coward," he whispered, unable to raise his voice. "You wanted to do it, I know you did. Finish this," he hissed at the slayer. Dante shook his head, his expression strangely horrified. The hunter rolled to his feet, raking a hand through his snowy hair. The man looked as lost as Nero felt, and the ex-Knight took vindictive pleasure in this.

"You really thought I would… You were going to let me?" Dante took a few steps across the room, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand. "And yeah, some part of me wanted to, but kid…" Dante trailed off again. "You're not yourself at all anymore, even when you're not having an episode. The stuff you say, I mean, you always were a punk, but now it's worse. You're just… vicious, or something." The hunter walked back to where Nero lay on the floor, and knelt beside him with a thump.

The teen sat up slowly, wheezing. He refused to look at Dante, even when warm hands gently touched the bruises on his throat, trying to soothe them. The breeze from the open window suddenly chilled him, and he curled up, wrapping his arms around his knees. _Like a snivelling baby._ Dante pressed closer again, radiating heat that Nero fought not to bask in. Instead, he turned to sneer at the slayer.

"Why didn't you then, if some part of you wanted to?"

"Do you listen to me at all, kid?" Dante shifted until he was sitting beside Nero and pulled the youth closer to him. "You're not completely gone yet."

"So you've just postponed the inevitable. Gonna fuck me again while you're waiting?" Nero felt Dante tense beside him, sending a sick thrill of victory through him. He didn't know whether he was going to laugh or throw up. The soft caress of hands on his bruises paused in their ministrations.

"I won't touch you again if you don't want me to," Dante stated stiffly, his voice strained.

"Not even if I injure another of your friends and you want to punish me for it?"

"Nero…" Dante appeared to be counting to ten in his head. Nero waited for the slayer to lose it and hit him, but Dante managed to keep in control. He let go of the teen and heaved himself back to his feet, looking exhausted. "Why don't you try to get some sleep? You might wake up less of a psycho, and-"

A squeal of tires in the street below interrupted the half-devil, and a wave of demonic malevolence swept over the pair of them as the doors to the office were kicked in. Stiletto heels stalked across the floor towards the stairs, and Dante swiftly stepped to the bedroom door and locked it. Below them, frighteningly loud despite being muffled by walls, Trish began to scream.

"She's dead! She's dead, he killed her!" Her voice was ragged from rage and grief, and Nero felt a tingle of electricity shoot down his spine. Trish's anguish would be horrible to witness, and would quite probably be lethal. He could hear her start up the stairs, and wondered how many volts it would take to stop his heart forever. Dante turned to face him, looking as though he felt the same way Trish did, but was trying to suppress it. The hunter hesitated for a moment, then appeared to make a decision. _Now he'll do it, if he couldn't before…_

Nero waited, but Dante grabbed his arm and yanked him roughly to his feet. "Run!"

"What?" The youth stumbled, his lungs and throat burning. He fought to organize his thoughts; if he could just think straight for a minute, he could figure out what the hell was going on.

"Run. She'll kill you." Dante snatched Nero's boots from the floor and handed them to the dazed teen, shoving him towards the window.

"And you won't?" Nero staggered to the sill and pushed the window open further. Dante's concern puzzled him, but he could remember a time when it would've filled him with warmth, and so he slipped out of the window into the night.

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Fuck I hate this chapter. Sometimes ideas don't translate from my brain into words very well, especially when I have to distort them to reflect Nero's dubious sanity. Two dichotomies that might help: what Nero thinks is happening versus what is actually described as happening, and what characters say they will do versus what characters actually do. Feedback fills me with joy; please review! :D


	15. Lies

Doubt

This is rated M for language, violence, disturbing content, and sexual themes. Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be more swearing and gratuitous sex, lol.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to their alerts and favourites. All feedback is appreciated; I am amazed at the response this has received, so thank you all for reading! :D Just a heads-up: this chapter is transitional and therefore kind of boring and jumpy. There is no flow. Hmmm… And I somehow just managed to sneeze beer all over my laptop. Awesome.

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Chapter Fifteen: Lies

His eyes ached, a red glare streaming through his closed lids, thudding into his brain. Nero growled and blinked blearily, lifting his arm to block out the offensive light. The movement brought pain; not the searing agony of deep wounds or broken bones, but the minor cramps of sleeping too long on a hard surface. The teen rolled over, his eyes slitted against the merciless onslaught of sunlight. Something tickled his nose and he bolted upwards, clunking his head into a metal object above him.

Now more fully awake than he really cared to be, Nero held still, determined to figure out where he was before hitting his head again. Gradually, his eyes adjusted, and he realized the source of his discomfort. Apparently, he'd slept _under_ a park bench last night, curled up on a mixture of dead grass and packed dirt. The youth was filthy, clad in only his stained jeans. One boot had been half-buckled up, while the other was simply entwined with its laces and knotted to his foot.

Consciousness brought memory, however hazy and broken. He'd run away, that much he could remember. He'd fled the office because Dante had told him to, because Trish was out of her mind, because Lady was dead. She'd died of her wounds, and Dante had fucked him and thrown him away, and he couldn't even really blame the man because he'd certainly deserved it, and-

"Hey, are you okay?" The unfamiliar voice startled the ex-Knight, yanking him out of his thoughts. He turned to face it as best he could, awkwardly crawling out from under the bench.

"He's strung-out. Leave him alone," another voice added.

"Just a junkie," a third person chimed in. "He's got that weird look they have. Let's go before he jumps us for a dollar or somethin'."

"He could be hurt," the first voice, young and female, protested. "Look, he's all bloody."

"That ain't his blood. And look at his arm. That's fucked-up; I'm outta here."

Nero finally clambered to his feet and immediately collapsed down onto the park-bench. He peered wearily at the three, waif-thin teenagers discussing him, wondering if somehow he'd taken _their_ bench. Homelessness was rampant in Capulet City, but he'd never really given it too much thought. He'd seen Dante offer up his change on countless occasions; the slayer showing an unprecedented generosity that made Nero wonder if he'd ever lived on the streets himself. The teen glanced at the threadbare children, but they continued speaking as though he wasn't even there.

"Is he a demon? Is that why his arm's like that?"

Nero growled softly in irritation, and the kids ran off without a second glance, leaving him alone in the common. Like the rest of the city, the small park had slum written all over it. Trash littered the brownish grass, and most of the benches were tipped over or partially destroyed. A few held scruffy-looking sleeping men. The trees were barren and stood stark against the grey sky. Near the center, covered in graffiti, a statue of a man on a rearing horse raised a sword defiantly.

The ex-Knight took in his surroundings, wondering what to do. He stretched out as best he could, rolling his shoulders to take the stiffness out of them. Guilt over his attack on Lady swamped his thoughts until he could barely breathe, his talons splintering the wood beneath them. It mixed murkily with the rage that was always lurking just under the surface of his mind; his naturally abrasive personality twisted into something beyond his control. Nero attempted to haul his thoughts up out of their delusional fog; tried to focus, to force himself to think rationally. He wouldn't survive unless he was more than barely functional.

He had to figure this out before he lost his mind completely, an event that seemed to creep closer every minute. Nero wiped at his eyes but they only continued to ache. Collecting his thoughts into coherence was almost unbearable, but to his surprise his effort was rewarded with a moment of near-serenity. He seemed to be able to think more clearly when he wasn't near anyone else. Alone, there was no one to snarl at or savage or attack. The teen considered this, wondering what it meant. He was lost in thought, staring blankly at the statue, when someone spoke right behind him.

"There you are." Nero whirled, recognizing the voice as Dante's. The slayer, dressed in his customary red and black, kept his distance. If he was concerned, or pissed off, or grieving he didn't show it. Nero fought to keep his own expression equally neutral, determined not to reveal the whole mess of emotions he felt when he looked at Dante.

"Get away from me."

"Sorry kid, but that ain't gonna happen." Dante's tone was light, but there was an implacable edge beneath it, one that brooked no argument. He walked around the bench with an easy grace, standing so that he was facing the teen.

"No, I mean it. I… My thoughts aren't as weird when I'm alone. So back off, jackass," Nero snarled sullenly.

"That does sound a lot like you." Dante paused, his frosty gaze raking over the teen's battered and grubby form. "And I'll keep that in mind." The slayer took a step forward, his hand closing over Nero's bicep and yanking the youth to his feet. "But you can't stay here."

"Fuck off." Nero tried unsuccessfully to pull his arm free. Clenching his devilbringer into a fist, he moved sideways in preparation for throwing a punch. He glowered at Dante, who stared back at him with a look that suggested Nero was trying his patience. The teen inhaled shakily, realization washing over him and flooding him with guilt once more. He'd killed this man's best friend, and yet here was Dante, still being, if not too-nice, then at least unnecessarily civil. Nero dropped his gaze and stopped resisting, and the slayer immediately let him go.

"C'mon. The cops usually check this park by nine o'clock. You'll get arrested for vagrancy, or prostitution, or something." Dante studied Nero almost sympathetically, and the teen heard him sigh so softly it would have been imperceptible to anyone else. The slayer turned and began to walk away, and Nero stumbled after him, confused as hell.

"Dante, what's going on?" The teen fumbled over the words. "Trish said, I mean, Lady. I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean-" Nero gave up, unable to express himself. Anything he said, anything he offered Dante wouldn't be enough to make it up to him. The teen squelched the furious voice in his head before it could taunt the slayer about the huntress' death. He gritted his teeth and waited, but when Dante spoke, there was no condemnation in his voice.

"Turns out golden orbs work on humans as well as half-devils. Lucky for you, Trish and I managed to scrounge one up and get it to Lady in time. She's alive, kid, and should recover. And she's going to fuck you up real bad as soon as she gets out of the hospital; that much I do know." Dante turned to face him, his expression uneasy and at odds with the good news. "I only had the one orb, Nero. I can't save anyone else. I wonder, though…" The older hunter trailed off thoughtfully. "I wonder if I should've given it to you. I mean, before this got so bad. Maybe it would've helped."

Nero gave the taller man a dubious look. "Wouldn't I have had to die first? That's what golden orbs do, right? Bring people back from the dead?"

"Not exactly." Dante shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he spoke, perpetually in motion. "I mean, that's usually the end result of its effects. Trish could explain better; she knows all about this magic shit. What a golden orb does is retrieve lost souls and restore them."

The teen held still as he tried to process this new piece of information. "You think I have no soul?" He blurted, a sharp spike of hurt wedging itself into his chest. "Like a full-blood demon? You think I'm just-"

"Nero, that's not-"

"You do, or you wouldn't have said anything. You think-"

"We're not discussing this here. C'mon." Dante's voice was laced with irritation, and Nero bit his tongue to keep from trying to restart the argument. Dante's theory was just as good as any other that they had to work with. There was no point in fighting about it when it was all pretty much hopeless anyway. The ex-Knight kept quiet, but his proximity to the slayer twisted his thoughts. _He doesn't even think you're a person anymore, just a piece of trash to fuck and throw away. _

They headed deeper into the park, into a stand of brush and spindly trees. Leaves and other debris crunched under Nero's feet as he walked, his sense of relief about Lady dampened by Dante's idea. He slowed his steps to put more distance between himself and the other hunter, but it didn't help. He wondered just what he'd done to the young woman, if he'd smashed her bones or sliced her open or stripped the skin right off her. How could Dante stand to be near him, to even speak to him, if he'd done something like that? _Even if they saved her, you still killed her. You still hurt her so badly she died. You'll deserve everything he does to you. _

"Kid? You're getting that strange look again." Nero glanced up at the words to discover that he'd fallen further behind. Dante was fifteen feet ahead of him now.

"It gets worse with people nearby. By myself, I can almost think clearly." Nero did his best to keep the scorn out of his voice, but Dante frowned at him anyway. The teen caught up to the slayer, feeling the edges of his mind start to unravel and fray. "How do you stand it? How can you not want to hurt me for what I did to her? You're still half a devil, you must want-"

"Nero, I-"

The teen trailed off, catching up to the taller man and glaring at him. "That's why you fucked me, isn't it?"

Dante didn't look as taken aback as Nero would have expected; it was as though he was anticipating this question. He ran a gloved hand through his ivory hair, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. The slayer was silent for a long time, and Nero nearly growled and lunged at him. Eventually he took a step closer to the youth, his voice quiet. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't looking for an apology," Nero snarled. "Answer my question."

Dante swallowed, his expression flickering from anguish to hate and back again. "I wanted to," he muttered. "And I wanted…" He paused, leaving words unspoken and glowering at the teen. "Damn it, Nero, she's my best friend; sometimes my only one. And you tore through her like she was made of paper."

The slayer's hands clenched into fists, and Nero's face started to ache in anticipation of getting the shit kicked out of him. He put a little more space between himself and Dante, waiting for the onslaught. Part of him wanted a fistfight, craving violence as a poor substitute for satisfaction, but he pushed the urge aside. He could think right now, not with complete clarity, but with much more focus than he'd had last night. Nero didn't want to waste what little time he had, but it was growing more difficult to order his mind to obey him. He thought of Lady and felt queasy.

"So you wanted to hurt me, because I hurt her?" Nero prompted. He remembered the feel of Dante's hands sliding roughly up his sides, slippery with blood; the persistent weight of the man's body on top of his own, the sound of skin pressing slickly against skin. Nero shivered; warm arousal and icy hatred warred in his veins. _He put you on your knees and you liked it…_ The teen inhaled shakily, his face burning, and fixed his gaze forcedly on the ground. Overhead, a bird trilled softly.

"Yeah." Dante's eyes softened, looking almost ashamed. _See. This proves it. He wanted to hurt you, and he did. _

"You fucking asshole, you sonofa-" Something snapped inside of Nero; rage entwined with misery until he leapt at Dante with enough force to send them both to the ground. Straddling the hunter's muscular chest, he grabbed a fistful of Dante's snowy hair with his human hand and formed a fist with his devilbringer. Skin split with the force of his first punch, and the youth hauled back and hit Dante again and again. Blood scented the air almost immediately, and Nero felt bone snap under his knuckles before he realized that Dante wasn't fighting back. He dragged himself away from the other man, scrambling across the ground until his back hit a tree trunk.

He struggled to catch his breath and fight down the rage, half-wanting to gouge out Dante's eyes and half-wanting to sob. Nero coughed instead, trying to regain control. His only comfort was that this was just his normal violent temper; he hadn't blacked out and attacked blindly. The ex-Knight watched as the slayer sat up and pushed muscle and cartilage back into place; bones settling back together with a sickening grinding sound. Dante wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve and spat on the ground, watching the youth.

"Kid-"

"Shut up, Dante." Nero felt his bare skin scrape on the bark of the tree behind him. "Don't come any closer." He added, watching the older hunter rise effortlessly to his feet and begin to approach him.

"Nero." Dante showed his customary disregard for Nero's personal space and walked right up to him. He crouched down in front of the teen, balancing on the uneven ground with the ease that only years of martial arts and natural agility could provide. Nero subdued his initial vindictive urge to kick Dante in the knee and settled instead for scowling at the slayer. The older man leaned in close, settling onto his knees and reaching for Nero's shoulders. The teen flinched at the touch, unable to squirm away with the tree directly behind him.

"I'm sorry," Dante murmured, softly this time, as though he was trying to quiet a panicked wild animal. He brought one hand up to Nero's face, gently running his knuckles over the teen's jaw. His expression was as strange as Nero had ever seen it, and he couldn't decide whether Dante was contemplating kissing him or about to break his neck.

"Don't be," Nero snapped. "It's not like I didn't deserve it." He could feel his irritation rising, and wondered if he was about to lose his mind. He pushed Dante's hands away from him but the slayer replaced them almost instantly.

"You didn't." Dante stated. He moved closer to Nero until his breath was warm on the teen's skin, sending sparks of electricity down Nero's spine. The ex-Knight exhaled shakily, furious with himself. _I never should have let him get so close, should never have let him touch me, ever. Should have just acted like an adult and told him to fuck off when he hit on me, and then… _

Dante's fingers trailed down his throat, sliding lower to trace the teen's clavicle. His touch was as soothing as it had always been, and Nero found himself relaxing into it. _Don't. He'll just fuck you and throw you away. He admitted it; he wants to hurt you, and what better way than to pretend to be nice before tossing your worthless hide to the curb? Don't let him, or are you just going to be his bitch until he grows bored and finds another? You know he won't keep you, he never keeps anyone. Even if you want him to. _

Nero opened his eyes, not knowing when he'd closed them, and inadvertently met Dante's intense gaze. He startled before he could suppress the reflex, bumping his head into the tree trunk. Nero brushed away his mind's strange ramblings with a quiet scoff. _Wanting Dante is my absolute proof that I'm insane. _Fingertips were tracing his jawline, and Dante's icy scrutiny now seemed more affectionate than hateful. The older man seemed to be feeling as conflicted as Nero, and the teen couldn't understand why. The hunter had more than enough motive to kill him, and yet here he was, straddling Nero's legs, looking as though the damaged, muddy teenager was the best thing in the world.

"You didn't deserve it. Not that." Dante's breath was warm on his skin, and a moment later soft lips were pressed to his throat. Nero froze, torn between shoving Dante away and pulling him closer. It was stupid to want this, especially when he knew how it would end. Probably out in the woods somewhere, in a shallow grave. Nero grabbed the slayer's shoulders and pushed hard, attempting to knock Dante on his ass again.

"Fuck off, old man," Nero muttered, but there was no venom in his tone, only exhaustion. The slayer rebalanced himself easily, standing and taking a step back. He reached down and pulled Nero to his feet, then moved away to give the teen more space.

"Alright." Frosty blue eyes appraised Nero, anguish mixed with nonchalance flickering in their depths. Dante rubbed the back of his neck, looking indifferent. "C'mon," he began, turning away from the teen once more. "We need to get to the office and pick up some stuff."

"Why?" Nero bent down to retie his boots, untwisting the buckles at the same time. Dante started walking, heading towards to sounds of the morning rush hour traffic, and Nero followed after him.

"You can't be around so many people like this. And you've already expressed your opinions on being tied up in my basement. So, we're leaving."

"What do you mean, 'we'? And where?"

"I'm sure as hell not gonna let you wander around on your own too much now, am I? As for where, well, we'll figure that out after we talk to Trish. She's got an idea."

Nero raised an eyebrow, unable to trample his own defiant nature. "And if I don't go?"

"Trish'll kill you," Dante's voice was cold, his tone matter-of-fact and betraying his limited patience. "I won't stop her again, kid. This is your last chance."

Nero snorted, bitterness welling like bile up inside of him. He tried to suppress it, fighting to retain some form of civility. "Why do you even bother? There's no point anymore, Dante."

"Stop giving in," Dante snarled, so suddenly that Nero took a step back. Scarlet hell-fire glimmered across the cold blue of the hunter's irises, and he abruptly caught Nero by the throat and pulled him close. The teen went rigid, wanting to resist but unwilling to risk having his trachea torn out. Dante lifted his hand until Nero was forced to look up at the taller man, his breathing shallow and pained. "Stop giving in to it, Nero. Fight back. I know you can."

The slayer released Nero as swiftly as he'd grabbed him, pulling his red trench-coat more closely around him and watching the youth carefully. The teen swallowed painfully and rubbed at his throat, knowing it was bruised from the force of Dante's grip. He wanted to tell the older man that this whole ordeal had overwhelmed him, that he didn't know what to do, or where to start. Instead, Nero lifted his chin and glared up at Dante.

"Your little pep-talks suck, old man."

* * *

Yawn, um, I wanted to keep this chapter a bit lighter, to break up the monotony of angst, but it just wouldn't work. Hmmm, and I think Dante could've been a street kid. Dressing in ratty shirts, smoking cigarettes so he wouldn't be as hungry, dying his hair black so he'd be less conspicuous to strange organizations obsessed with his name… Bring it, dmc5, I dare you. Haha I'm secretly hoping for a bit of Tony Redgrave and Gilver in the new game, but I highly doubt it'll turn out that way. :D

Um… It would be awesome if you guys all reviewed; I always creep profiles and find new stuff to read that way. I know this chapter was a little boring, but I have to move the plot along somehow, lol. And I was thinking, 'cause I'll probably never write a DxN one-shot lemon, I'd squeeze all my little pervy ideas into this fic. Thoughts?


	16. Pathways

Doubt

This is rated **M** for language, violence, disturbing content, and sexual themes. Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be more swearing and gratuitous sex, lol.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to their alerts and favourites. All feedback is appreciated; I am amazed at the response this has received, so thank you all for reading! I especially love my reviewers (_**Natural Evil, SirenaLoreley, Valenwind, bitbyboth, honeyberries, zadikall (x2), OKami23Kitsune (Lyn), Kirrae, I'm Not Your Boyfriend, SLSWN, Blood of Dusk, TazziJadeBlack, Ivory Tears, Cielshadow17, Wolfprincess45, Britt601, omgitsbella, BattleGoddess126, sharci, FeeSilencieuse, Amami.K, deathdefy (x6), Evil-Snow-Bear, Starlight AT, smilingicecream, DantesDarkAngel**_), you guys make me happy! I'm trying to reply to reviews using PM now, but if you don't sign in or don't allow messages I can't, sorry. I still love you though. :D

This is sort of transitional, but also plot-heavy. I decided to re-cap and clarify a few things. I miss the friendly banter of the first few chapters, before everything drowned in a sea of angst (and it's gonna get deeper…). *sails off in her little Gollum boat*

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Pathways

Nero couldn't breathe, his throat crushed in a bruising grip. He was arched backwards over a warm body, an arm preventing him from rolling aside, his feet unable to gain purchase. The teen flailed blindly, the talons of his devilbringer raking over bricks and concrete, his vision fogged with fury.

"You are so fucking annoying," a voice growled in his ear, and Nero gradually calmed enough to take in his predicament. As he relaxed, the powerful arms wrapped around his neck and chest followed suit, until he was able to inhale shakily. Nero rubbed at his eyes and looked around him. From what he could see, he was on his back in the filthy alley beside the Devil May Cry office, staring up at the smog-filled, midmorning sky. Trash littered the broken pavement; rusty cans and old newspapers lapped at the edges of the gritty buildings. Beneath the teen, Dante squirmed uncomfortably.

"Would you get off my crotch? You're heavier than you look. Fuck." A hard shove sent Nero forward onto his knees, and from there he staggered the rest of the way to his feet, turning to look at the disgruntled half-devil behind him. Dante had a smear of crimson across his cheekbone, and both his eyes were dark with slowly fading bruises. Nero rubbed at his nose uneasily, the scent of blood and garbage heavy in the air.

"How long this time?" he asked, his throat protesting speech. He didn't offer Dante a hand up, instead staring wearily at the slayer. He didn't know what to think, or feel, when he was around this man. It seemed that every time he came to a conclusion, or decided on a course of action, his mind escaped him yet again and he was left thrashing around in the dark. Dante seemed oblivious to the teen's mental chaos. He clambered up easily and dusted off his trench-coat, looking as though he was halfway to exasperated.

"I don't know. An hour, maybe. I had to wrestle you through the tail-end of rush hour traffic to get back here; there's probably been at least thirty calls to the police just from the people at the last crosswalk alone." Dante paused to pull a jagged piece of glass out of his hand and toss it aside. He gestured towards the street. "Get inside. Trish'll be even more pissed if we keep her waiting, and believe me, she's plenty pissed off as it is."

Nero scowled and stalked out of the alley, shoving open the office's double doors with a resounding crash. His thoughts were hazy and muffled, but he did have a feeling that whatever Trish had to say, he wasn't going to like it. Stepping into the main room, the teen paused to take in the mess. While the office generally looked like a cross between a war-zone and the location of a spree of natural disasters, the black scorch marks marring the walls, floor, and ceiling were definitely new. Even the stale air tingled with electricity, smelling of ozone and hot metal and burnt wood.

Trish sauntered down the stairs, her expression alone nearly enough to make Nero take a step back. The blonde demoness appeared coldly enraged, her eyes gleaming icily and her black-painted nails looking sharper with every click of her high-heeled boots. On a good day, Nero knew he'd be hard-pressed to match Trish in a fight. In his present condition, he wouldn't have a snowflake's chance in hell. The teen squared his shoulders and met the demoness' hard stare, opening his mouth to speak.

"Don't. Do not say a word. Go and sit down." The sharpness of her tone brooked no argument, and although the urge reared up, Nero managed to keep from snarling back. It was probably for the best, he thought as he seated himself on Dante's battered sofa. She probably would've gutted him without hesitation otherwise. _Could you blame her?_

Dante entered a moment later, tugging both doors shut behind him. He glanced at the embodiment of fury that was Trish before heading to the sofa and flopping down beside Nero. The demoness folded her arms across her ample chest and glared at both of them. The fact that Dante was also bearing the brunt of her ire made Nero wonder just what had happened after he'd jumped from the window. From the appearance of the office, it hadn't been anything good.

"Nero," Trish addressed him flatly, as though he wasn't worth her time. "Although I don't see much point in going over this again, Dante insisted. Why are you here, in Capulet City? Did you get kicked out of the cultists' town, or were you just bored there?"

"So, now you want me to speak?" Nero growled, only to be cuffed in the back of his head by the slayer. The teen gritted his teeth and continued. "I don't know, okay. I know my memory's not that great but I'm sure I mentioned this to you before."

Trish nodded, seemingly deep in thought. "But you don't know if you always didn't remember why you left Fortuna, or if it's something you've just forgotten recently?"

Nero glowered at the floor, reaching down to pull off his boots. "I don't know," he mumbled, tucking his now bare feet underneath him to curl up on the couch. He flicked a glance at the demoness, but she was staring, narrow-eyed, at the older hunter. Trish began to pace, the tap of her booted feet grating on Nero's nerves. Beside the teen, Dante stretched out lazily, his fingertips just brushing the back of Nero's neck.

"He never knew, I think," Dante offered. "He just showed up here one day. I always thought maybe they'd kicked him out or excommunicated him or some other shit, and left it at that. And he was fine, for what, maybe a few months? He acted the same as he was in Fortuna; an asshole punk with too much attitude. Easy to piss off, sure, but not crazy."

Nero turned to frown at the half-devil, but Dante caught a lock of the teen's white hair and tugged it gently. The gesture was more playful and affectionate than anything else, and Nero felt a mixture of confusion and lust and grief flit through him. He pulled away from Dante, leaning out of his reach. Invading Nero's personal space had been a game of the older man's, before this whole mess had happened. The teen was struck by the memory of how they'd been before; wrapped in an easy, competitive friendship that focused mainly on finding the best methods for slaughtering demons. _Everything's ruined now. He just wants to f-_

"Lady thought otherwise," Trish's voice cut into Nero's thoughts before they could slide away from him into madness. "Nero had some sort of episode in front of her shortly after he picked up holy water from the church."

"We knew that, and we already checked the church. Remember? We wandered through that dusty shithole, looking for non-existent clues, while Lady…" Dante trailed off, worrying his lip with his teeth. Nero fixed his gaze on the floor and refused to look at either of them. If looks could kill, he was sure he'd burst into flames under Trish's dark stare.

"Lady said Nero told her that it wasn't the first time; that strange little things had been happening to him since he'd arrived. She said he didn't elaborate on it, and we didn't think too much of it, especially since it only got noticeably bad after he went to the church. I'm guessing that the church simply exacerbated an issue that was already present. And I'm willing to bet, after my lovely sojourn into that infernal tower, that the Temen-ni-gru did the same thing." Trish's voice dripped with venom. Her footsteps drew closer, and the shreds of Nero's survival instinct forced him to look up and watch her approach.

"Give the Yamato to Dante." Nero blinked at the demoness, not sure he heard her correctly.

"What? Why?" He blurted, flexing the muscles of his devilbringer hesitantly.

"Just do as I say," Trish snapped. "Give him the blade."

"Trish," Dante began, his expression darkening. "Why? Nero is nothing like V-"

"I know. But I want him to prove it." The blonde glared at Nero, and the teen returned an irritated glance. He gathered what scraps of will he had left and focused on the blade, ordering its presence. Yamato slid swiftly from the demonic limb, silent save for the whisper of steel through sinew and bone. A moment later the katana's hilt rested in his palm. Dante tensed as though he'd just suppressed a flinch, but accepted the sword when Nero passed it to him.

"He gave it up willingly." The half-devil gave Trish an appraising look, and she nodded thoughtfully.

"Something Vergil was incapable of doing. Whatever's happening to Nero, it doesn't involve your brother." Trish paused, her eyes resting on the glittering katana. "And I don't think the sword would have this kind of effect on someone."

"It couldn't," Dante agreed. "Nero proved his control over the Yamato by healing it in Fortuna. It serves him, not the other way around." Nero fought down his annoyance at being talked about as though he wasn't there, and tried to focus on the conversation. He figured he'd be able to concentrate better if he could move further from the warm red presence of Dante, and the dark, bleak aura of Trish. _Why do they bother trying to help? They don't even like you any more, not after what you did…_

"Yes. And I think the church and the tower were merely unfortunate coincidences. Whatever happened to Nero probably affected his reactions to powerful places, whether they were holy or evil. It would be similar to his strange response to holy water," Trish mused.

Dante balanced the katana across his knees, idly rubbing his thumb over its main edge. "You can't prove it, though."

"You and I both know that if there'd been anything at the church, we would've found it. And Nero had dissociative episodes before he got near the Temen-ni-gru. Given the results of my last mission in the tower, if I were looking for clues, it would be in Fortuna." Trish stepped closer to the teen, lifting one graceful hand and tossing two glinting metal rings onto the teen's lap. "I'd say the Order's keeping tabs on you, Nero. I don't blame them, even if you're someone else's problem now."

"For all we know, those rings could have been there for months, back from when the Order was catching demons." Dante sat up a bit, squaring his shoulders.

"That may be so, but we've exhausted any information available in this city. Trust me, the only things in the tower that I wasn't expecting were those rings and the Blitz. Remember the things we saw in Fortuna, Dante? You forget that I was a high-ranking officer in the Order. I think it's entirely possible that something strange happened to Nero in that place." Trish's gaze drifted back to Nero, cool and appraising. "There. That's all I've got, and it's more than either of you deserve. I'm heading back to the hospital."

Nero watched her leave, not noticing that Dante's fingers had twined into his hair again until the slayer closed his hand into a fist.

"Piss off, old man."

"Make me," Dante snorted, setting the katana on the coffee table and shuffling closer. "You heard the savage beauty; she's the brains of this operation. So, provided you can keep yourself from trashing my car, shredding the leather, or marking up the interior in any way, we'll go. The sooner, the better. Before Trish gets back would be best, I think."

Nero reached back and disentangled the half-devil's fingers from his hair, resisting the urge to break them. He held up the rings, turning them over in his hands. "Why would they care where I went?" he mumbled to himself. "Why would they bother?" _Why do any of them bother?_

"You'd know the answer better than I would, kid. Those rings might've been here longer than you have." Dante stood and walked to the wall behind his desk, setting Yamato amongst his other Devil Arms. Nero didn't protest the loss of the blade, figuring it was a wonder that the slayer hadn't stripped it from him well before this.

The teen raked his fingers through his hair, finding it grimy and sticky with blood. He heaved himself upright, craving the clarity that solitude might bring, and headed for the stairs. "I'm taking a shower before I do anything else," Nero muttered.

"Sure thing, kid. Try not to do anything weird to the bathroom; tile's expensive to replace, and your little holy water seizure already abused the taps to the breaking point."

Nero rolled his eyes and flipped off the slayer as he reached the top step. Behind him, he thought he heard Dante give a snort of laughter.

* * *

Clean and completely dressed for the first time in what seemed like years, Nero ambled back down the stairs. He was still exhausted and hungry, but the hot water of the shower had soothed his battered body, relaxing his overwrought muscles and easing the worst of his bruises. Dante had rushed into the shower the moment Nero had stepped out of it, and the teen found himself alone on the main level of the office.

He looked around the building that had been his home for the past few months, grief and rage fluttering to life in his mind. He'd wanted to stay here all along, Nero realized. Not in the filthy, crumbling city, but here in this office with Dante. The teen's gaze flickered over the scorch marks on the walls and ceiling, wondering if the slayer had really had a gruesome, messy fight with Trish over him. The mirror above the bar had been smashed, and blood smeared the scattered pieces on the floor below it. Broken bottles had spilled their contents, and the air near the bar was pungent with alcohol. _Didn't have to dump his booze after all; they managed that on their own; _Nero mused, and then wondered where the thought had come from.

The ex-Knight couldn't remember, and scowling, he shoved open the door to the kitchen and stomped inside. He was barely two steps in when the scent of dried blood assaulted his nostrils, dispersing any hunger he'd been feeling. A shell-casing rolled under his foot, and a quick glance revealed that the floor was littered with them. Hand and footprints, stained crimson, were scattered across every surface, and spatters of blood stretched from wall to wall.

In the center of the floor was a large blotch of dried blood, murky brown at its edges but still almost scarlet in the center. Nero's sharp eyesight could pick out a few strands of dark hair, mixed into the congealed mess. _Lady… She bled out here. I…_ The jolt of his knees hitting the floor barely registered in the teen's mind. He leaned forward and retched, his stomach empty, bile spilling from his lips. Nero gagged and scrabbled backwards, dry-heaves wracking his frame.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, his legs and arms trembling, his throat feeling as though it'd been sliced open. Even after he'd stopped choking, he stayed down, the smell of old blood and gunpowder burning into his lungs. Nero tried to control his breathing, but it evaded his clutches as easily as his thoughts refused his orders. _Stop hyperventilating, you're gonna pass out. Fuck, get a grip, you're not a kid, get out of here. _

"Nero? Oh, shit. Here." Strong hands rolled him over, and then Nero felt himself lifted easily.

"Put me down, I'm okay," he gasped, another wave of nausea rolling over him. The teen leaned away from Dante and spit onto the floor.

"You're a lot of things, kid, but okay is definitely not one of them." Dante carried him out of the kitchen and across the main room, setting him down on the sofa. Nero couldn't gather himself enough to even form a fist and hit the older man for the insult.

"Fuck you," he muttered, barely able to speak, his lungs clenching in his chest. Nero's vision began to blur, and he bit his lips, trying to slow his inhalations. Dante stepped away, returning a minute later with a glass of water and a plateful of toast. Nero watched as the half-devil set the food down before seating himself beside the teen, far too close for Nero's taste.

"You're still enough yourself to have a panic attack, I guess," Dante murmured, and Nero growled in response, wrapping his arms around himself.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The teen panted, half-hunched over in an effort to keep from shaking. Dante handed him the glass of water, and he accepted it quickly, grateful for anything that would take the taste of bile from his mouth. Dante offered the plate of toast, but Nero shook his head, waiting for Dante to answer his question.

"You can still feel remorse, and regret your actions. It'd be bad if you couldn't, Nero."

The youth felt Dante's arms slide behind his back and under his legs, pulling him onto the half-devil's lap. "Get the fuck away from me," Nero protested, but Dante leaned back further onto the sofa and pulled the trembling youth with him. They ended up stretched out against each other, with Nero's head on Dante's chest, the half-devil's heartbeat steady against his ear. Nero felt his body calm, lulled by Dante's touch, even as the other man's presence drove insidious tendrils of chaos into his mind.

"Don't touch me, you'll make it worse," Nero hissed. He tried to pull away only to find Dante's arms wrapped more snugly around him. The half-devil rolled, flipping them onto their sides and trapping Nero between his body and the back of the sofa. Nero gripped Dante's shoulders roughly and tried to push him away, the talons of his devilbringer snagging in the man's t-shirt. "I can't think when you're around me."

Dante ignored him, one hand sliding down Nero's side while the other skimmed the teen's stomach. Nero shivered at the touch, hating the effect the half-devil had on him. He craved Dante's warmth like a moth drawn to a flame, even as his mind screamed that he should shove the man away, run out the office door and keep on running. "Get away from me," the teen muttered, feeling his heart-rate leap again as Dante placed a warm kiss on his throat.

"Make you feel better." A hot tongue slid over his clavicle, and Nero gasped before he could stifle it. Dante's hands had reached his waist and were now slipping up under his shirt, impossibly warm. The caresses soothed all his aches as they drifted over his bruised skin, coaxing the teen to relax. Nero couldn't though; he found it impossible to let down his guard, especially around the slayer. At any minute, Dante might change his mind and decide to hurt him. _Don't forget who gave you all these fucking bruises…_

Dante's mouth pressed gently against Nero's jaw, and the teen turned away. He let his talons sink into Dante's shoulder, feeling the man's blood well up under the claws, and pushed hard.

"You don't want to be touched?" Dante asked softly, his pale eyes unreadable. His deft fingers found a nipple and tweaked it, drawing a yelp from the teen.

"Yeah. No. I don't know." Nero paused, feeling his cheeks burn. It was hard not to look at Dante with the man only a few inches away, but Nero managed, fixing his gaze on the half-devil's shirt and refusing to meet his eyes. "How the fuck should I know, Dante?" he whispered. "You confuse the hell out of me. I think you were nice to me before, too nice, even, and now I spend most of my coherent times wondering how you're going to kill me, or why you haven't already, or when you might." Nero resisted the urge to press his face into Dante's chest, letting the man's hands continue to roam his body. He felt Dante thumb a fading scar, a bullet-wound left by Lady and then re-opened again by the half-devil in a fit of rage, and bit his lip to keep from screaming.

"Every day is a nightmare, and it gets more and more awful. And even when you might've tried to save me from this before, it only makes it worse that you no longer want to. It's not like I can even blame you for it, either." Nero gritted his teeth and finally met Dante's gaze, knowing his own expression was one of utter despair. Dante looked stricken.

"Don't look at me like that, kid. I know you're not just waiting to be put out of your misery; you're too much of a punk for that. And what makes you think I don't want to help you?" Dante's voice didn't sound as certain as his words suggested. He pressed a kiss to Nero's lips, soft and undemanding.

Nero tilted his head back to drink in the kiss, not even sure that he really wanted to. Dante's caresses were small dubious comforts, but they calmed his heart a bit, and so Nero allowed them. The teen pushed away the strange thoughts that eddied and swirled around him, his body suffused with hazy warmth. Dante pressed harder against him, pausing in his ministrations to unbutton Nero's jeans and tug down the zipper.

"Whoa. Dante, don't-"

"It'll be okay." The slayer's tongue flicked over the pulse-point on Nero's neck, and a wave of arousal washed over the youth. Dante left a trail of hot, wet kisses over the teen's throat and jaw, his teeth just barely touching the pale flesh. Nero sighed and leaned in closer. _No one else has ever wanted you anyway; you might as well let Dante do as he pleases. _

Dante's mouth was pressed to his again, and this time Nero parted his lips, permitting the slayer to deepen the kiss. A strong hand reached into his jeans, and Nero startled at the touch.

"It's okay." Dante broke the kiss long enough to speak, then captured Nero's mouth again, much more forcefully this time. Nero growled, half-embarrassed, as his cock stiffened in Dante's hand and the hunter began to stroke him. He gripped Dante's shoulders again, needing something to hang onto as the half-devil's clever fingers moved over his length, applying just the right amount of pressure.

"Dante, fuck," Nero gasped. "You don't have to-"

"You'll feel so much better after you cum, Nero." Dante's breath was hot against his ear, catching the lobe in his teeth and teasing it. "Just relax, you'll feel so good." Nero nuzzled the other man's neck in response, trying to keep from groaning. Dante's hand felt damn near perfect, sliding up his erection to massage his glans before stroking back down again. Dante pressed closer in encouragement, his palm slick with Nero's precum.

The teen moaned before he could stop himself, bucking into Dante's grip. He fisted his hands roughly into Dante's hair, pulling the man towards him. Their mouths met hard, and Nero felt his bottom lip split open against Dante's teeth. A hot tongue thrust into his mouth, and Nero had a fleeting fear that the slayer would simply hold him down and fuck him after this.

He pulled away, but Dante followed insistently, and Nero was too lost in desire to deny him again. He opened his mouth to the slayer once more, feeling Dante's tongue dart over his own. The hand on his erection stroked faster, squeezing harder, and a wave of pleasure swept up and enveloped him. Nero moaned into the hunter's mouth, his hips jerking as Dante brought him off. He came hard, spilling over Dante's hand, feeling as though he he'd been struck by lightning.

"Fuck, Dante," he muttered, unable to string together anything more coherent. The slayer's mouth pressed against his throat again, lips quirking into a smile. Nero released Dante's hair, letting his trembling arms drape over Dante. It had felt good; he wouldn't deny it, even if he couldn't figure out why Dante had bothered. After another moment, Nero decided he didn't care. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the slayer, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Sorry to throw a whole bunch of plot at you at once. I'll write some more smut to make up for it. Hmmm… I didn't want to get into Dante and Trish's partnership, other than that ultimately, Trish owes Dante her life, and when she's around him, she does what he tells her. I'm trying to balance the interplay of loyalties in this, but it's like juggling, haha. And I know the little bit of smut was unnecessary, but I was bored, lol. Please review; it makes me happy. I will also accept constructive criticism, inane commentary, random thoughts, and pointing-and-laughing. Thanks. :)


	17. The Road

Doubt

This is rated **M** for language, violence, disturbing content, slash, and sexual themes. Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be more swearing and gratuitous sex, lol.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to their alerts and favourites. All feedback is greatly appreciated! Love, cookies, and vodka to: _**honeyberries, SirenaLoreley, Valenwind, general zargon, Ivory Tears, Amami.K, deathdefy, TazziJadeBlack, Blood of Dusk, smilingicecream, Scheska, ClouDy SkieZ1 (x5), NaturalEvil**_ (I can't reply, but thanks), _**SLYSWN, Evil-Snow-Bear, silent33, FeeSilencieuse, HikariNoTenshi-San, Darkened Dawn of Silence, Lotus Butterfly, xxLovingtheFlavor, Cielshadow17, Cris UchihaxSasuNaru Freak,**_ and _**Bellatrix Keehl.**_

A/N: Sorry for the wait; work is crazy. I hope no one's too confused (just PM me if you are); a couple people have guesses that are definitely on the right track, given the amount of information presented. Hmm… I guess I interpret Dante in a darker and more flawed way than most, but I dislike writing him as though he's been completely declawed, for lack of a better term, lol. And I hate this chapter so much, I don't even know… It's pretty much all boring filler, sorry. :( It refused to do what I wanted it to, and I fought with the dialogue for hours, and still. Blah.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: The Road

He was contentedly warm and nothing hurt, and for a long moment Nero seriously considered that he was dead. A second later consciousness kicked back in, flooding his senses and setting the teen's mind awhirl. He was hazy with sleep, enveloped in the scent of blood and leather and sex. _Wait. What?_ Hauling open his resisting eyelids, Nero took stock of the situation, feeling a blush starting to burn on his cheeks.

He found himself on Dante's sofa, covered with a woollen blanket and the man's garishly red trench-coat. Nero pushed the coverings away and barely managed to suppress a yelp when he discovered his jeans were still unzipped. Hastily, he did them back up, looking around the office for Dante. Pale sunlight filtered through the dirty windows, revealing glittering dust motes floating in the air. Nero scratched at his nose in embarrassment, standing up slowly to be sure his legs would carry him.

A sound from upstairs caught the teen's attention, and he watched as Dante swaggered down to the main floor, a rucksack carried easily over one shoulder. He regarded Nero with a wary expression, as though expecting the younger man to leap at his throat. Nero stared the slayer down, holding his ground as Dante stepped closer. He couldn't read the hunter's expression, and didn't know how to feel about anything that had occurred between them. If it had even occurred; Nero sometimes wondered. He squared his shoulders and attempted to gather his thoughts, trying to decide just how he was going to react to all of this.

"All set, kid?" The question was so innocuous Nero was caught off guard, having expected something much more perverse from the half-devil. The teen hesitated, still drowsy, feeling unsteady and exposed in Dante's ice-coloured eyes. He must've waited a moment too long, because Dante sighed exasperatedly, raking his gloved fingers through his hair.

"Am I even talking to you? Do you even hear me? Shit, Nero. At least try to focus, for fuck's sake." Dante paused. "Or your own."

Nero fought the sudden swell of rage that threatened to overtake him, and managed to nod. "I mix stuff up," he muttered, almost civilly, grateful that his bangs shielded his eyes. "Sometimes I notice afterwards, that I got it wrong, or that a thought didn't make any sense. As for the rest…" The ex-knight trailed off, seeing a black hoodie on the back of the sofa and pulling it on, realizing too late that it belonged to Dante. _'Course it does. Do I have any clothes left that aren't riddled with bullet-holes or completely sliced up?_

"You are getting worse, aren't you?" The hunter set his gear down, slinging it carelessly onto the floor. "You're not yourself at all, and it's not just your batfuck crazy episodes. It's all the time, isn't it? 'Cause right now, comparing you to when we first met in Fortuna, you could be someone else entirely." Dante stopped talking abruptly, as though waiting for a reaction. Nero said nothing, and the half-devil continued. "And here you are, without even something rude to say. I don't know what's worse, when you're so vicious I wanna smack you, or when you're so passive you look like you've given up on everything."

"What do you want me to do, Dante? Show some enthusiasm?" Nero growled sullenly, his eyes focused on the faded leather sofa. _Or take off my jeans and sprawl over the couch? _

The slayer narrowed his eyes, his hands curling into fists for a moment. He relaxed them almost immediately, then swiftly closed the distance between himself and the teen. Nero shut his eyes as he felt Dante's fingers cup his face, pushing aside the urge to punch the man. He inhaled slowly, catching the half-devil's warm scent and trying not to blush.

"See," Dante murmured, "you're barely snarky anymore. And you haven't even tried to knee me in the gut yet." Calloused fingertips brushed over his lips, and Nero turned his face to avoid the contact.

"Leave me alone, Dante," the teen hissed.

"You let me touch you before."

"Let you?" Nero demanded, feeling incandescent fury spark down his spine. "I didn't _let you _do anything. You just did whatever you damn well wanted to, which is all you do anyway, and fuck the consequences."

Dante snorted in amusement, which wasn't the effect that Nero had wanted to have at all. He shoved the slayer away from him, pissed off at Dante for not understanding, and angry at himself for being unable to make the other man comprehend. _Or maybe Dante just doesn't give a damn. _He watched, glowering, as the hunter picked up his gear and coat and sauntered towards the door.

Dante paused at the entrance, one gloved hand resting on the door's handle. He turned to face Nero, his expression unreadable. The teen felt his lip curl, and wiped his palms on his jeans. He knew he should be feeling hopeful, or at least relieved that he finally had a purpose to work towards. He should be thankful that his friends, while not always acting especially friendly, were trying to help him. Dante was still looking at him, but before Nero could sarcastically ask if he was admiring the view, the slayer tugged open the door and headed outside.

"Get your stuff. We're leaving in five minutes."

* * *

After five hours in a car with Dante, Nero was about ready to gouge his eyes out. He'd forgotten how irritating being in an enclosed space with the other man could be. Having to sit still and yet be awake to drive, brought out all of Dante's more annoying personality traits. Even with the uneasy tension between them, the older hunter still managed to pick at Nero, knowing he couldn't get away. Dante's mood had improved as they'd driven further from the city and its dark tower, and now Nero couldn't decide which he hated more: an ominously brooding Dante, or this exasperatingly playful version he was trapped in a car with.

A heavy rain began falling, coursing in rivulets off the windshield, and Nero turned off Dante's hideous choice of a radio station for the fifth time. The slayer seemed to consider this a challenge, immediately hitting the tuning button and cranking the volume to an ear-splitting level.

"It's like you're twelve years old, or something," Nero grumbled, tugging his hood over his head and studying the passing countryside. Capulet City and its demonic edifice had faded from the horizon hours ago, and while they'd driven through several smaller towns, the landscape consisted mostly of dark, evergreen forest.

"What?" Dante yelled over the blaring music, turning it down a moment later. Nero ignored him, slouching lower in his seat. "None of that, kid. You gotta talk to me once in a while; when you go quiet I start wondering how long I have before I get my throat torn out."

"How could you hear me, over that racket?"

Dante actually grinned at him, something he hadn't done in ages, and Nero felt the corners of his own mouth twitch, just a little. "Christ, Grandpa, do you not like music or something?"

"Not that shit you listen to, old man." Nero rolled his eyes at the white-haired slayer, unable to lean out of Dante's reach and avoid the smack that'd been aimed at his shoulder. He concluded that his own mood had improved a bit, now that they were seemingly beyond the Temen-ni-gru's influence. Strange thoughts were still gnawing at his brain though, trying to convince him that Dante was merely driving him into the forest to kill him.

Nero yawned and stretched as Dante took them off the highway, making what seemed to be a series of random turns until the teen was completely lost. They traveled for another monotonous four hours, stopping once briefly when Nero could not stand to be near the hunter for another second. They still seemed to be headed vaguely southward, but this wasn't a direct route to the ferry. The ex-Knight ignored the glimmer of paranoia that sparked in his mind, setting his booted feet on the dashboard. Dante shoved them down without taking his eyes off the road.

"Where in hell are we going?" Nero snarled, glancing dubiously at Dante as the paved road ended and was replaced with a mixture of gravel and dirt. The rain refused to let up, and the gloomy sky was darkening further as night set in.

"Fortuna. I thought we'd confirmed that," Dante deadpanned, and Nero folded his arms across his chest to keep from strangling the man.

"I knew that, jackass. But it would be quicker if we stayed on the highway. Why are we out in the middle of nowhere?"

"You're a hazard to public safety. I can't very well let you rampage around a hotel, now can I? I'd never get the damage deposit back, and I'm broke as fuck as it is."

Nero sighed, conceding the point. A few minutes later Dante parked the car and ordered the teen out into the rain. The hunter paused to take his guns and Rebellion from the trunk, handing Nero Blue Rose and their bag of gear. He gestured into the forest, where Nero, squinting, could barely pick out a trail curving through the brush. The youth went first, despite not knowing the way. Dante could see better in the dark, and it wouldn't be any trouble for Nero to follow the infrared glow of the slayer's large frame, but the teen couldn't fault Dante for wanting to keep him in his sights.

The path was slick with wet leaves and overgrown with gnarled roots. Nero's paranoia, by this point, was screaming inside his head. Dante walked quietly behind him, almost imperceptible in the relentless rain. The teen's senses were on alert, waiting for the click of a clip sliding into a gun or the rasp of a sword being unsheathed. He tried to calm his mind unsuccessfully, and was so absorbed in listening to Dante's movements that at first he didn't notice the cabin. The grim little cottage appeared half-rotted in the dark, a decrepit porch sagging in front of it.

"Hope the roof's still okay," Dante mumbled, brushing past him.

"It looks about to collapse," Nero snapped, ill at ease. His nervousness was almost laughable, he decided. _Half the time I'm telling Dante he might as well shoot me, and the other half I'm scared that he will. Fuck. _

"It'll be alright, for one night, at least." The half-devil shoved open the door, nearly splintering the wood in the process, and stepped inside. He turned to Nero, motioning him in. "But you're welcome to stay out in the rain. Choice is yours."

"Fuck you," Nero muttered, though Dante didn't seem to hear. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Is this dump yours?"

"Kinda. It belonged to a couple of friends of mine, Lucia and Matier."

"And what, they didn't want it 'cause it was crap?"

"They're dead," Dante said coldly. He disappeared into the darkness of the cabin, and Nero followed quietly. He waited as the hunter fumbled in a cabinet, finding a pack of matches and beginning to light numerous candles. "See if you can find the oil lamps, or a lantern, or something," Dante ordered.

Nero let his gaze drift around the cabin's interior. Noticing the candles flickering, he kicked the door closed behind him and tramped over to a likely-looking cupboard. Opening the drawers kicked up dust but revealed the round glass of a lantern and a bottle of kerosene. Coughing and sneezing, he carried them to Dante, who lit the lamp without a word. A warm glow suffused the dark room, revealing a small area with cupboards and counters for preparing food, a pair of musty stuffed chairs, and two ancient beds. Dust coated every surface. Nero sneezed again, catching Dante smirking at him.

Scowling, Nero walked to the cabin's only window, wiping dirt off the panes with his sodden sleeve. He couldn't see anything outside but the beads of rain on the window, but the room behind him was mirrored in the glass. He watched Dante continue rummaging about the cabin, finding a crate of bottles and setting it aside. Then the slayer looked up at him, and Nero wondered if he knew he could see him. _Why would I care, anyway?_

"Kid?" Dante held up a bottle, sloshing its contents. "Supper."

Nero snorted, turning and walking over to the older man. Dante's ivory hair practically glowed in the lamplight, making his skin seem darkly golden in contrast. His eyes gleamed brightly, nearly azure in colour. The slayer quirked an eyebrow questioningly, and Nero blushed, realizing he'd been staring. He snatched the bottle from Dante's hand to hide his embarrassment, taking a gulp and realizing with horror that it wasn't wine, as he'd expected, but whiskey. The liquor burned all the way down his throat and he began coughing, hearing Dante snicker in amusement.

"Go easy. It could've easily been poteen, ya know. Here." Dante handed the teen a sandwich wrapped in paper. "I bought these this morning. They should still be okay."

They ate in silence, sitting in the mouldy chairs, passing the bottle back and forth between them. The alcohol helped calm Nero a bit, enveloping him in enough of a dull haze that he was almost able to relax. He tugged off his sodden hoodie and slung it over the back if the chair, hoping it would dry overnight. Dante finished off the bottle and went to get another.

"We should reach the ferry port tomorrow. Hopefully the weather will be okay for a crossing," Dante began, sounding thoughtful. Nero flicked his gaze towards the man, realizing Dante was studying him. The teen shrugged.

"It's just a little rain and wind. Nothing major."

"Any thoughts on where to go or what to do once we arrive?"

"Well, as long as you don't crash through a sky-light and shoot a church leader in the face…" Nero trailed off, and Dante rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I think a low-profile would be best, especially for you. Is Kyrie still living in the town?"

"As far as I know, yeah."

"You've mentioned her, but you've never called her all these months you've lived at the office."

Nero rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable having his strange behaviour paraded before him. "I don't know… I just knew I couldn't go back, so why make it harder. If I talked to her, I'd just miss her more."

Dante looked at him dubiously, as though he didn't believe a word Nero had said, but didn't reply. He took a drink from the bottle and grimaced. "I think we should find Kyrie first, before we search for information anywhere else. At least that way we'll have a place to start from."

"If we're even looking in the right place at all," Nero mumbled, accepting the bottle when Dante passed it to him.

"Yeah. It could just be you're going crazy all on your own, kid." Nero didn't have an answer to that, and took a gulp of the whiskey. When he looked up at Dante again, the man's gaze seemed to have softened a bit. "I don't think that's the case, though."

"Does it matter?" Nero growled, handing the bottle back to Dante with more force than he'd intended. "Either way, what does it change if it can't be helped?"

Dante didn't take another drink, instead finding the cap and replacing it on the bottle. He rose quietly to his feet and toed off his boots, heading to one of the beds and sitting down on it. Nero followed him, kicking off his own footwear and crawling up onto the second bed opposite Dante. The springs creaked under his weight, and Nero wondered when the last time was that anyone had come here. _This place is pretty isolated. Maybe we'll just wait here until my mind's completely gone. _

"Kid?" Nero looked up, realizing that Dante had probably been trying to get his attention for the past minute.

"Yeah?"

"If you don't want to go to Fortuna, I won't make you. But what are your other options?"

"What do you mean? If I'm completely out of my mind, I won't know one way or the other what happens to me. And if I'm like this, the way I am now, sometimes a psycho and sometimes just paranoid, well…" Nero trailed off, considering a moment. He hated to say it, disdained to admit it, but… "Couldn't I stay at the office? At least until I'm, you know, too crazy to be near anyone?" He could feel himself blushing and fixed his sight on the floor. _There. Now he knows how much power he has over you. Now he can just throw you away like you're nothing._

"You're already too crazy to be near anyone, kid. That's why we're out here, in case you missed that part."

Nero nodded, feeling like an idiot. _Of course, you can't stay with him. Why would he want you? You're not even useful, anymore. _He couldn't look at Dante. The bed shifted, and suddenly the slayer's body was pressed warmly against his side. Nero refused to look up, emotion whirling inside of him. He reached out blindly with his demonic hand and connected with the older man's chest, shoving him firmly away.

"C'mon, Nero. It's not like I'm going to leave you alone out here. Trish will take care of the office, and Lady will help her as soon as she's well enough. I'll take you to Fortuna, or I'll stay here in this shithole for as long as you want."

"Or until I'm too crazy to want anything at all?"

"Yeah."

"And then what?" Nero spat. He felt Dante's hands wrap around his devil-bringer, fingers entwining with the talons.

"You won't know one way or the other." A kiss was pressed to his palm, and Nero sighed shakily. He glanced up for a moment, only to be pinned in Dante's intense stare. The teen pulled his arm free, but the slayer shuffled closer again. "But I think our best bet is still to look in Fortuna. If we don't find anything, we'll move on to our next plan."

"We don't have another plan, Dante." Nero moved away from the slayer, and this time the man took the hint and kept his distance.

"We'll come up with something, kid." The hunter returned to his own bed, and Nero immediately found himself missing Dante's warmth. The cabin seemed intensely lonely. He watched as the half-devil lay down on top of the blankets, folding his arms behind his head. For a moment, Nero could see Dante's face in the flickering lamplight, and the slayer looked nearly as forlorn as Nero felt. The teen dropped his gaze to his palm, flexing his talons, feeling almost defenseless without Red Queen and Yamato. When he looked up again, Dante was observing him intently. He stared back for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Do you miss them?" He asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. Dante frowned slightly.

"Lucia and Matier? Yeah. Sometimes. I'm used to the idea of them not being around anymore. But it's weird being here, without them. I haven't been back since they died."

"And Vergil?"

Dante's frown deepened, and his eyes got a little colder. He exhaled slowly, sounding exhausted.

"Every day." The slayer was quiet a moment. "Do you miss Credo?"

Nero shook his head. "He threw me away," he whispered.

"He was a fool." The vehemence in Dante's tone startled the youth. Nero shrugged.

"You'll do the same."

"No. I won't." Dante sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and facing Nero directly. "I know you don't believe me, but I wish you'd try. Damn it, Nero. I won't lose you too." The hunter stopped abruptly, hands clenched into fists. Nero laughed bitterly.

"There's not much of me left to lose, old man."

Dante shook his head slowly, then lay back down on the dusty blankets. "Go to sleep. We have a long drive a head of us."

* * *

Yeah, that was pretty awful. I had to cut it here so it didn't go on forever, but that meant all the interesting stuff got bumped to the next one. Ha, fail. Although the next chapter picks up right where this one ends, and there might be some smexiness if Dante actually talks to Nero some more first. Anyway, if you've added this to favourites but haven't reviewed, please review, even just once. :D

Oh, and Lucia and Matier are dead 'cause that game sucked. Also, what do you think Dante was trying to listen to? I had Slayer's 'Killing Fields' playing at the time, haha. And if you haven't heard Placebo's 'Running Up That Hill' yet, you must go listen to it now (thanks Ivory Tears). And someone write me some Resonance of Fate slash fic. And by someone I mean… all of you… :D


	18. The Road, Revisited

Doubt

This is rated **M** for language, violence, disturbing content, slash, and sexual themes. Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be more swearing and gratuitous sex, lol.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to their alerts and favourites. All feedback is greatly appreciated! Love, cookies, and vodka to: _**Darkened Dawn of Silence, SirenaLoreley, A Masquerade Massacre, bitbyboth, NeverAgainMyFriend, Chibitalia, honeyberries, DantesDarkAngel, Ivory Tears, HikariNoTenshi-San, zadikall, bleueyz, smilingicecream, Cielshadow17, Mittelan, deathdefy, NaturalEvil, SLYSWN, Omgitsbella, amaya-nights rain, FeeSilencieuse, Melissa, CalciumRagazza, xrenfield, akinahd08**_**,** and _**sharci**_.

A/N: Really sorry for the wait. Is anyone still reading this? There aren't many chapters left, and they're all outlined, but other pairings/fandoms are fighting for my brain-space. And I work all the time. I will finish this though, I swear. Is it bad when you have to re-read your own stories to see what details you put where? Yeah, it is. I suck. And this whole chapter is kinda weird, even for me. It's long and draggy and nothing really happens. Ha. Fail.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: The Road, Revisited

He was trapped and tangled, and someone was shaking him.

"Damn it, kid. Wake up." Dante's voice, hoarse from sleep and potent liquor, rumbled above him, and Nero managed to stop thrashing and focus on the older man. His breathing was rapid, loud in the room where the only other sound was the spatter of rain on the window. The teen couldn't stop trembling, his heart beating as though it would leap from his chest, and he couldn't remember why he was so scared, why he had to fight.

"I'm awake," he gasped, realizing with a start that Dante was straddling him, the older man's hands tightly clutching his shoulders. His weight pressed warmly against Nero's thighs, and the youth felt his face flush with embarrassment.

"You were screaming in your sleep." Dante stated, reaching down his own side and pulling at Nero's devil-bringer. "Let go, you're hooked into my ribcage." The teen realized his talons had pierced Dante's skin, sliding into the man's body and wedging between his ribs. He pulled them away slowly, feeling Dante wince and hiss. Blood scented the air, and Nero licked his fingertips before he could stop himself.

Dante gaped at him for a moment, dumbfounded, before glancing away. "What were you dreaming?" he demanded.

"I… I dunno. I don't dream at all, usually."

"You were yelling loud enough to wake me up," Dante stated, in a tone that seemed to imply that he could sleep through an apocalypse if he had to, and Nero had no business being so ear-splitting. The tall man shifted his weight a bit, eliciting an involuntary shiver from the teen at the sensation. "And," Dante continued, "you were flailing around like something was stripping your skin off. You say you don't remember; that's bullshit."

"I don't," Nero protested. Dante looked unconvinced. "Get off me."

Dante climbed off the ex-Knight's prone form, his thigh just barely brushing against Nero's crotch as he moved. Nero shoved him roughly to hurry him along. The half-devil laughed at that, recovering easily and sauntering across the floor. He discarded his dampened shirt along the way, tugging it off over his head. Dante proceeded to crawl under his own covers, rustling down into the bed before turning to face Nero again.

"You can come sleep with me if you want."

Nero felt heat rise to his cheeks again. "Not bloody likely," he snarled, beginning to untangle himself from his blankets. They were cold and soaked, and he slung them onto the floor in irritation. _What the fuck?_

"Seems like the roof is leaking," Dante drawled. He lifted his sheets and gestured for Nero to join him.

"I'll sleep on the chair." Nero staggered to his feet and began pulling off his wet clothes. He draped them over the room's paltry furniture, and then sank, teeth chattering, into the dusty armchair. Nero promptly sneezed. "Give me one of your blankets."

Dante wriggled until it would be impossible to take any of his coverings without his permission. "I'm using all of mine."

"Asshole," Nero growled. He curled up in the chair, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"That's gonna kill your back," Dante observed helpfully. The slayer was completely silent for nearly three minutes, then continued, his voice quiet. "I… I won't be rough with you, if that's what you're worried about. I won't touch you at all. If you have nightmares again, I'll be right here to wake you up."

Nero lifted his head to stare at the man in the dim light of the room. The hunter held his gaze levelly and without challenge, and for once Nero was grateful for that. He exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the small tremors that rippled through him. The youth bit his bottom lip, hoping the pain would kick his brain into gear and find a way to avoid crawling into bed with Dante. _He's just using you. Why wouldn't he fuck you as often as he could before he kills you?_ Nero pushed the thoughts away, brushing them aside as irrational paranoia. _Real reasons then: he's a slut and a pervert and if he decides to be violent with you, it's going to be difficult to stop him. _

Nero exhaled slowly, knowing Dante was observing him, detached and wary. _And despite all that, I still want him. I'm truly out of my mind. _He uncoiled from the chair and padded softly across the room.

"Nero," Dante began, shuffling over in the narrow bed.

"Keep your hands to yourself," the teen snarled, sliding under the sheets and immediately into the warmth of Dante's arms. "Did you not hear me, or are you just ignoring me?" He jabbed the man with his elbow and rolled so that he faced away from the half-devil. Dante's muscular chest pressed against Nero's back, his powerful arms wrapping around his torso. The sensation was familiar, and for a moment Nero tensed, determined to pull away.

"Go to sleep, kid. It's alright. I'm right here," Dante mumbled against his shoulder. Nero snorted in bitter amusement before he could stop himself. He felt Dante sigh softly, his breath whispering through Nero's ivory hair. An ache filled his chest like molten lead, and he wondered when he'd begun to give a fuck about Dante's feelings. _Provided he has any. Which is unlikely. _When Dante moved to pull him closer, Nero allowed it.

"I want you." Dante pressed a kiss to where Nero's shoulder met his neck, producing a tremor in the teen's lean frame. "Do you believe me when I say it?"

"Fuck off, Dante," Nero muttered, but there was no malice in his voice.

"I wanted you the moment I saw you."

"That sounds right: me and Lady and the Love Planet girls and everyone else, old man." The teen could feel Dante smirking, his lips soft against his skin. He didn't deny Nero's accusation.

"And at first, I thought it was just that, to see if I could fuck those puritan values outta ya." Nero snorted and rolled his eyes, quieting when Dante kept talking. "But you seemed so much like how my twin and I used to be, when we were younger. I was…" Dante trailed off before continuing softly. "Interested. So much of this world just wanders past while I'm oblivious to it, but you had my attention from the beginning. Are you even listening?"

Nero nodded, the ache in his chest intensifying. _He's lying. Don't listen._ He was glad his back was to Dante. He didn't think he'd be able to face the man. Confusion twisted his mind, but he struggled to focus on Dante's voice. _You want him to like you. You're so sick._

"And look at you, just some snarky punk kid from a shitty town. I shouldn't give a fuck about you, and yet…" Dante stopped again, sounding uncomfortable. Nero heard him swallow. "Do you hear me, or are you just tuned into the voices in your head?"

"I hear you," Nero said thickly. He wanted to believe Dante. He needed to know he was wanted, that he wasn't alone in all of this. Dark thoughts sidled into his mind, but he shoved them away, trying to focus on the slayer. The man's fingers slid over his chest, finding and circling a nipple. Nero gasped, shuddering. He floundered for a minute, trying to decide what to do. Eventually, he turned so that he faced the half-devil, ending up practically nose-to-nose with him, searching his face as best he could in the darkness.

Dante appeared sincere enough. Nero sought out his gaze, startled at how vulnerable the hunter looked. Dante's pale eyes shone intensely in the murky gloom, fixing Nero in his sight. The slayer seemed as close to being utterly exposed as Nero had ever seen him. He reached out involuntarily to touch Dante's face even as his mind screamed to destroy this threat now, while it was weakened. Nero turned his own face away, not wanting the other man to see the irrational hatred he knew was there. It would be so easy to hurt Dante at this moment; to say a few choice words to drive him away, make him suffer as much as he himself was.

Nero abruptly dropped his head to Dante's shoulder, nestling in against the man's throat. He sighed shakily, driving the thoughts away as best he could, and felt Dante's arms wrap around him again. _Don't be so weak. He's just using you._

"We'll figure this out, and then we'll go home," Dante stated softly, his hands beginning to rub warm circles on Nero's chilled skin. The teen remained quiet for a moment, then lifted his face to frown at the slayer.

"That's over-simplifying things a bit, isn't it?"

Dante smirked, eyes sparkling. "Since when do I make plans?" He leaned in and kissed Nero before the teen could flinch away, his fingers sliding up and into Nero's hair. The ex-Knight's first impulse was to bite the other man, the second was to flee. Nero restrained himself, trying to ignore the profane chorus of thoughts in his head and decide what to do. _See? He's getting exactly what he wants from you, and he doesn't even have to work at it anymore. You climbed into his bed knowing full well what would happen. You used to be a Knight, for fuck's sake, and now you can't even protect yourself. _

Nero opened his mouth to speak, but Dante's tongue slipped between his lips almost immediately, tasting like fiery alcohol. The half-devil pressed closer, and Nero felt himself rolled onto his back, the weight of Dante's body pinning him onto the mattress. _It started like this before, didn't it? Kisses to make you compliant while he does whatever he wants? _Nero sighed as Dante deepened the kiss further, feeling his wrists trapped in the man's grip. It took every ounce of will-power in Nero's increasingly frazzled mind to keep from arching his back and grinding up onto the other man.

Instead, he pulled away, turning his face aside when Dante followed his movements.

"Get off," he snarled, pulling his hands free.

"I'm trying," Dante grinned, unable to dodge Nero's fist. He took the hit good-naturedly, holding himself up on his arms. His eyes narrowed a bit when he saw the scowl on the teen's face. "Nero, I-"

"I meant it. Off. Now."

"Or you'll what?" Dante questioned, only half joking. _You're in no shape to fight him; you shouldn't have gotten in bed with him, stupid. _Nero's thoughts must have been evident on his face, because the older man abruptly shuffled away. "I wouldn't make you-"

"No?" Nero asked pointedly, the last scraps of what little good mood he'd had fluttering away. Dante dropped his eyes, then turned from him.

"Good night," he mumbled gruffly, the words seemingly directed to no one in particular.

Nero tugged the dusty blanket over his head and closed his eyes. "Too late."

* * *

The world was a haze of black and grey; smears of bright red streaking his vision, pulsing in time to his heartbeat. A shocking rush of static reached his ears, the screech of a freight train's brakes or a trapped, screaming animal; all of it twisting and whirling into a horrendous incessant racket that filled his brain until he could not take it anymore.

It was over just as quickly, leaving a vacant silence in its place, and he could feel the bones slide under his palms, his own tendons aching with the strain of crushing the life out of this thing. Nero tightened his grip and felt the trachea collapse in his fingers. He could hear the gagging spluttering rasp as something tried to breath and couldn't. His thumbs slid slowly through fragile skin and cartilage and into the throat, slippery fluid easing his way. There was no light, only darkness and bitterness and blood. And he was almost finished, if he could just…

Dante choked and coughed again, and Nero threw himself backwards, landing hard on the wooden floor of the cabin. The dawn's murky grey light filtered through the only window, and the youth scrambled to his feet, fighting down the urge to throw up. Blood and saliva covered his hands, and he wiped them on the blankets as he staggered dizzily back towards Dante, dreading what he was going to find. _I couldn't have killed him. He can take more punishment than a mountain. I'm barely a threat to him._

The teen stumbled closer, reaching to pull the sheets away from the slayer's face. The pillow was stained crimson, and streaks of scarlet glazed Dante's pale skin, but the man's wounds had already closed. Before Nero could reach to check for a pulse, Dante dragged in a deep breath, turning towards the youth. His eyes opened to reveal the horrible glimmering red that was the beginning of his devil trigger. _Oh fuck. _

Nero didn't see the hunter move until it was too late to get out of the way. The backhand sent him reeling, and he quickly realized that Dante had always pulled his punches before. The man had never hit him full force, and as Nero picked himself up off the floor once more, he decided that Dante, even enraged to the point of triggering, was _still_ not hitting as hard as he could've been. The slayer was on his feet in an instant and heading towards him, and Nero had the presence of mind to lunge for the door.

The chill of the early morning swept over his skin as he leapt outside, and the teen scrabbled barefoot down the steps. He'd gotten at least fifteen feet from the cabin, taking shuddering breaths of the misty air, when Dante kicked the door open. The half-devil pulled on his trench-coat as he stalked towards him, utterly furious and barely keeping his trigger under control.

"What the fuck, Nero?" Dante snarled, the words not nearly as loud as they might've been had Nero not just pushed his claws through the slayer's larynx. Halfway towards the teen, Dante stopped, looking as though it was taking every ounce of his will power to keep from leaping at Nero and breaking each bone in his body.

"I don't know. I just… My mind was buzzing, and I couldn't see, and I wanted… I needed…" Nero stopped, unable to explain. He stood shivering in his boxers, watching Dante's expression change slowly from hatred to pity. Somehow that was worse; he would've preferred anything but this man's sympathy. Nero wiped at his nose and caught a fresh whiff of blood. "Don't look at me like that," he sneered, hoping to find a refuge from this situation in his own anger.

"I'll look at you however I want," Dante snapped in response, the edge in his voice revealing his masked fury. The man's eyes still gleamed red in the half-hearted light of the dawn. He took another stifled step towards Nero, clearly fighting his own demonic nature. The teen glared at the hunter, realizing that Dante was trying not to harm him even with his devil-side insisting otherwise. The knowledge left the teen even more muddled than before, and there was an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with bruises or old wounds.

Nero stared at the hunter, watching emotions flicker across the taller man's face without even trying to comprehend them. Here was Dante, his employer, roommate, and possibly best friend, doing his damnedest not to give in to his devil side and kill him when they both knew that that would be the best possible course of action for all involved. It was nearly enough to make Nero sink to the ground, hold his head in his hands, and laugh till he died.

The sky darkened again, rain clouds blotting out what little light the dawn provided. Nero wiped his hands on his boxers, trying to clean more of Dante's blood off his fingers. His mind screamed at him to run, but he had a feeling that doing so would make it harder for Dante to resist his demon. Already the slayer's expression had turned hungry, and Nero couldn't tell whether it was man or devil that was the source of that. The look sent a shot of arousal down Nero's spine, and he could sense himself getting flustered. _This is so messed up. I'm out of my fucking mind. _

Dante drew in a grating breath, and Nero watched as the scarlet glimmer faded from his eyes. When the half-devil glanced his way again, it was with his normal, ice-blue gaze. His countenance was still strange though, want and lust bleeding through his otherwise unreadable expression. Nero swallowed and looked away, trying to get a handle on the whole situation.

"My life's a train-wreck," he muttered, brushing raindrops from his face.

"Kid?" Dante rasped, sounding like it hurt to talk. The half-devil shifted his feet but didn't move any closer. "C'mon back inside. There's no use staying out here in the rain, unless you think you're going to lose it again."

Nero almost laughed at that, glancing at Dante from beneath his bangs. The man seemed to be regarding him with genuine affection, and the absurdity of _that_ made Nero snicker. He felt exhausted and delirious, and he stared off into the trees, watching the mist flow around the trunks. He didn't know what to do; in Fortuna, he'd always had a plan, or a clear objective, something to work towards and the ability to take steps to do it. Here, he had nothing but his battered, flimsy, and increasingly treasonous mind. He couldn't prepare for his future if he couldn't remember his past, he mused, suddenly feeling very much alone. _Stop wallowing in self-pity. Deal with this. _

"Hey. Nero?" Dante asked again, the concern apparent in his voice sending a heady warmth coursing throughout the teen's body. _That's pathetic. You're just a whore-_ Nero pushed the thoughts away, squaring his shoulders and risking a glance at Dante. The slayer was watching him rather bemusedly, all traces of his trigger-formed rage having dissipated. Nero fidgeted, gathering his nerve.

"Come here, Dante," he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Huh? Why?" the slayer muttered, already walking towards Nero. The teen barely managed to stand his ground, whispers trickling through his mind, demanding he flee. Dante approached until he was only standing a foot away, his brows furrowed in puzzlement.

"Tilt your head back," Nero ordered, reaching out slowly with his human hand. Dante did as he asked, exposing his throat. He remained unmoving, his demeanour relaxed and steady, even as Nero's fingers slid over his rain-slick skin. Most of the blood had washed off in the drizzle, and Dante's skin was smooth and unmarked. "I did do it though, didn't I?"

"Yeah," there was a strange, laughing undertone in Dante's voice. "You got me, all right. Vocal cords, windpipe, all of it. Again."

"Gotta shut you up somehow," the youth mumbled, his demonic hand coming up to rest on Dante's broad shoulder. He closed his eyes, half-basking in the hunter's radiant warmth, wondering how they'd gotten to this point. How many months had he brushed aside Dante's perverted advances and unexpected kindnesses? Why was he allowing them now? _'Cause your brain's fucked, that's why. You'd have to be crazy to even consider letting Dante get this close to you, and look, here you are with your arms around him. You know letting him have you won't save you, so you must be just desperate for comfort of any sort. How pathetic. Credo would mock you for acting like this._

Nero felt Dante move slightly under his hands and opened his eyes. He lazily stroked both thumbs up the half-devil's throat, smirking when Dante swallowed warily. The sight added to his arousal, and Nero was about to the point where he just didn't care anymore. "Did it hurt?"

"Yes, you little sadist, it did. What's this about, anyway? I've had about all the weirdness from you I can take today. If you're done standing in the rain, let's go inside and see if there's any coffee."

Nero worried his bottom lip in his teeth, studying the taller man. Dante regarded him impassively, apparently waiting for Nero to do whatever it was he was planning. The teen slipped both his hands behind Dante's head and pulled the slayer towards him, his mind a mess of desire and despair. _This is disgusting. Look at how you're acting. You can't possibly want this. Not from him. _

Dante took the hint and stepped nearer, his hands brushing against Nero's hips before looping loosely around the teen's waist. Nero sighed against the half-devil's shoulder, wondering why he was doing this. He couldn't decide, and his whirling thoughts provided no answers. Dante's skin was warm next to his own, and he couldn't help but shiver when a hot mouth was pressed to his throat, leaving a trail of wet kisses up to his jaw.

"Is this what you want?" Dante murmured in his ear. "You're not gonna change your mind and start a fight now, are you?" Nero growled in response, not saying anything because there wasn't anything _to_ say. He fisted his hands in Dante's hair and yanked the slayer closer, knocking the man off balance and tripping him when he moved to accommodate the motion. They both staggered to the ground, Dante pinning the teen against the damp leaves and moss.

"Punk," he snarled, without malice. "There's a perfectly good bed inside the cabin."

"It's dusty," Nero breathed, turning his head to the side to allow Dante better access to his neck. The half-devil shrugged off his trench coat and spread it out on the ground, then pulled Nero onto it. The rain lessened a bit, but the chill in the air remained, making every touch feel like fire on Nero's skin. Dante's mouth traced the teen's clavicle, then trailed lower, teeth grazing the smooth flesh with just enough force to make Nero's breath hitch. He ran his hands down the hunter's chest, careful not to slice him open with his talons. The gesture was immediately returned, Dante's caress rough enough to elicit a hiss from the youth.

The long lines of the hunter's body pressed him into the scarlet coat, sending electric sparks down his spine. Nero squirmed, pulling his knees up until he and Dante were nestled against each other like two puzzle pieces. The teen couldn't think coherently, his world diminishing into a pattern of cold rain and the warmth of the slayer's touch. Dante's tongue swirling around his nipple was enough to make Nero rock his hips up against the half-devil. Growling at the sensation, he threaded his fingers in Dante's rain-slick hair, probably yanking too harshly but not caring. In response, Dante bit him, just hard enough to bruise. Nero yelped, his skin achingly sensitive. He felt the man crawl forward and place a kiss under his chin before pulling away.

"Are you okay?" Dante queried, his expression a mixture of lust and concern. He looked as though he'd like nothing better than to take Nero right there on the ground. The youth brushed his bangs out of his eyes, confused.

"Yeah. I guess. Why?"

"'Cause you don't generally…" Dante paused, considering his words. "I mean, normally, you don't let me touch you, and you certainly don't start anything. This isn't like you."

"I don't even know what's 'like me' anymore. And what, are you saying you'd prefer it if I fought back, 'cause…"

"No, that's not what I meant." Dante hurried to assure him. The slayer lifted himself up on his arms, frowning. He leaned back on his knees, leaving Nero lying prone in front of him.

"Then what did you mean? I don't understand." The teen demanded, sitting up and stretching out to pull Dante back to him. The slayer deftly evaded his grasp, his expression distant and closed.

"I mean, why are you doing this now? I can't help but think that maybe you're trying to-"

"I'm not trying to persuade you about anything, Dante," Nero snapped, feeling rage and annoyance slide up his spine and into his brain. "You'll kill me if you have to, no matter what I do." The youth took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Dante reached for him, but the teen smacked his hand away. "Forget it. You think I'd just whore myself out for your mercy?" Nero glared at the half-devil, too pissed off to continue speaking. Dante looked as though he were frantically searching his mind for the right words and just couldn't find them.

"Kid, that's not-"

"Shut up, Dante." The lithe teen rolled to his feet, careful to avoid touching the half-devil. He restrained himself admirably from beating the man into a bloody pulp, instead heading directly for the cabin. He heard Dante call his name but didn't turn around, too confused and angry to face the hunter. Nero slammed the door closed behind him, his chest hurting. He couldn't decide what to do, so he sat in a dusty chair and stared at the floor, his mind whirling frenetically around him.

* * *

It's late and I'm tired, so let me know if I missed any typos, haha. Please review (or PM) and let me know what you think. Criticism and feedback are always appreciated. I know this doesn't flow well at all, and the characterizations are getting further from the game personas, but I'm hoping that my plot/events account for this in a logical fashion. Smex wouldn't work in this chapter (although I tried) but hopefully the scene will fit into the next one, where we will also have the return of the plot, lol.

Randomness for Nero: I was thinking about T. S. Eliot's poem _The Waste Land _while writing his 'episode' and subsequent explanation: _"I could not speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing, looking into the heart of light, the silence."_


	19. Hope

Doubt

This is rated M for language, violence, disturbing content, and sexual themes. Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be more swearing and gratuitous sex, lol.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to their alerts and favourites. All feedback is appreciated; I am amazed at the response this has received, so thank you all for reading! Kahlua, milk, and cookies to Cielshadow17, general zargon, Jess, xrenfield, Enkay, amaya-nights-rain, Mittelan, silent33, SirenaLorely, bitbyboth, honeyberries, Ivory Tears, NaturalEvil, mist shadow, smilingicecream, Ryuutarouchan, SLYSWN, Amami.K, SystemSecret, Blood of Dusk, Evil-Snow-Bear, Nefarious Seraph 13, ShimmerT, JustHexx, and rdlit90. Thanks so much guys! :D

I dislike this chapter, but then I dislike every chapter, so maybe saying so is redundant. It's pretty confusing, but then, so are people, haha. Three conversations and four themes (and more) from previous chapters got squashed together (again) in this one. I hope it doesn't seem too rushed, but I need to move this along, and honestly, the last three chapters probably should've been just one chapter, lol. Um, there is yaoi sexual content in this update. It's not exactly graphic, or lemony, or even very smexy, but consider yourselves warned anyway. :P

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Chapter Nineteen: Hope

If someone had suggested months ago to Nero that, in the future, he'd find himself sulking and paranoid in a little cabin in the depths of a dark forest, having just been called a whore by the Son of Sparda, he would've punched them in the mouth for their audacity. It boggled the mind, and his brain was pretty much fried at this point anyway, the teen decided. He wiped the remnants of rain water from his bare skin with one of the dusty blankets, unable to shake the all-pervading sense of dread that ghosted his every moment.

It was stupid. He'd been a Knight once, hadn't he? He'd defended a city against all sorts of devilish scum, he'd rescued Kyrie from the clutches of an insane old man, and he'd utterly annihilated a giant, demonic statue. He'd walked fearlessly into the depths of any dungeon or decrepit building or haunted castle, and had never truly given a fuck about his own safety, because he hadn't ever needed to. Sure, he'd gotten his ass handed to him a couple times, but overall, he was more than capable of meeting any challenge that life threw his way. If something needed slaying, Nero got the job done. He was at his best when he was wallowing knee-deep in gore, sword in hand, covered in blood. When his enemy might be his own mind, and he was unable to _do_ anything about a bad situation, he floundered.

_Yep. That pretty much sums it up. Completely fucking hopeless._ The teen sighed, dropping the blanket to the floor and looking around for his clothes. He found them in the dim light, tossed over the back of a chair to dry. Nero grabbed his jeans and shook them out, puzzled by his own earlier actions. _So I came on to Dante. Big deal. Poor judgement is the least of my worries right now. It's not like it matters anyway. Either I'll be dead, or he'll toss me aside before anything gets complicated. Didn't I decide that before?_

He hadn't managed to get dressed before the cabin door creaked open. Dante stepped in, white hair plastered down with the rain, his scarlet trench coat carried over his arm. The slayer shut the door behind him carefully, his pale eyes fixing on Nero with enough intensity to make him take a step back. Nero squared his shoulders and waited, unable to even _begin_ to deal with how he felt about this man. _Hopeless. Just get him to shoot you now, before you embarrass yourself any further. _

"Kid…" Dante rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck, ambling towards the teen with the grace of a panther. Nero turned, catching his emotions in a choke-hold and trying to hang onto them, as though that would keep them under control. He watched the older man uneasily, torn between trepidation and desire. Rage glimmered under the surface of his thoughts, threatening to bubble up, but Nero forced it back down. Droplets of rain puddled onto the floor beneath the slayer, the soft patter infuriatingly loud to Nero's ears. _Fucking hell. Get a hold of yourself. At least _try_ to be sane._

"Nero," the hunter began again, padding quietly across the floor. He stopped a few feet from the youth, far enough to avoid the full force of a swing if it came, but close enough that Nero could feel his warmth radiating out from him. The teen's skin, still exceedingly sensitive, prickled at the sensation, and he shivered involuntarily. Dante watched his motions with an interested gaze, and Nero got the distinct impression that he'd managed to distract the man from his intended speech.

"What?" The ex-Knight prompted, shifting so that he faced Dante. The half-devil moved closer, until they were almost nose to nose, with Nero having to tilt his head back ever so slightly to meet Dante's eyes. He inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of leather and gun oil, mingled with the scent of rain and sodden earth. His mind instantly fogged with arousal, and he shook his head to clear it, bemused and nearly overwhelmed. Dante's husky voice, oddly hesitant, managed to capture his attention.

"I didn't mean what I said," he began, speaking slowly. "Or, I didn't intend it like it sounded, if that makes any sense. You're just… full of surprises, I guess. I didn't expect you to… And maybe my reaction was off, so…"

"This is your apology?" Nero seethed, torn between hurt and anger. _Why do I care, either way?_ He glowered at the hunter, feeling the talons of his devil-bringer slide into the ridged scales on his palm.

"Yeah, it is." Dante nodded, looking earnest.

Nero hit him, his fist connecting to the half-devil's jaw with a satisfying jolt that went all the way down his arm and into his shoulder. It seemed like Dante simply absorbed the punch though, turning his face to the side so neither he nor Nero broke any bones. His feet remained planted on the crumbling cabin floor, and a second later he was quietly studying the teen again, as though Nero hadn't just hit him with enough force to snap a human's neck.

"Nero." His name was barely a whisper, but it felt like a reprimand to the teen. He exhaled shakily through his teeth, setting his gaze on the wall behind Dante and refusing to look at the older man. _What the hell are we doing here? _Nero resisted the urge to hit Dante again, trying to force his traitorous mind to relax. The half-devil seemed to be content to wait him out, displaying an unprecedented amount of patience. Nero glanced at the other out of the corner of his eye, trying to assess the situation. _It's pointless. You can't read him. Do you even know what you want from him? Do you even know anything about him, at all? _

"We're the same," he murmured softly, unaware that he'd said it aloud until Dante looked at him sharply. He tensed for a second, but the slayer merely nodded in agreement.

"Two of a kind," Dante added, sounding as though he knew exactly what Nero was talking about. Nero waited for him to speak again, but the room remained quiet except for the rain pattering against the window. After a minute, he'd had enough of the silence.

"Forget this, Dante. I don't know what I was thinking this morning. I…" Nero trailed off, startling when Dante's hands slid to his hips and tugged him forward.

"You don't know what you're thinking the majority of the time, kid." Dante's tone was warm and laced with affection, and Nero had no idea on how to respond to _that. _"I'm sorry this is happening to you, and I'm gonna do my best to help you fix it. I hope you remember that, if nothing else."

Nero nodded curtly in response, a strange rush of gladness engulfing him at Dante's words. The sensation of being trapped in his head lessened ever so slightly, and for a moment, he truly believed the other man would try to help him. He might've even smiled at the slayer, because an instant later chapped lips were pressed against his own.

"Damn it, old man, it doesn't take much for-" Nero growled in protest, but Dante kissed him hard and insistently, moving closer until their forms were flush together. Nero gasped at the contact, his body responding without his consent and nestling into the slayer's arms. He licked at Dante's lips, astonished when he opened his mouth to him. Dante allowed the teen to press inside with his tongue, offering no objections even as Nero's talons sank into his shoulder.

He let Dante shuffle them backwards across the room, indulging in the sensation of the man's warm hands caressing his chilled skin. It was only when his legs connected with one of the ancient beds that Nero became fully aware of just where Dante was taking this. The hunter's touch roughened and he took control of the kiss, deepening it enough to leave Nero breathless. The teen pulled away for a gulp of air, his fists clenched in Dante's ivory locks. _Why am I letting this happen?_

He must've voiced the question aloud, because Dante's mouth left his throat a moment later. The hunter's hands remained firm on Nero's hips, keeping the teen in place. He wondered, suddenly irritated, if Dante would restrain him if he tried to step away.

"Why does it always have to be so complicated with you?" The murmured enquiry seemed hypothetical, so Nero remained silent, waiting. "Always with the mixed messages, even when you aren't completely out of your goddamn mind." Dante's breath was soft against his ear. He felt teeth catch his earlobe and tug gently, the slayer's hands sliding to his ass and squeezing.

Nero kneed him swiftly in the gut, his retaliation sending Dante wheezing away from him. He watched as the hunter coughed and staggered across the floor, feeling puzzled when Dante finally got his breath back and smirked at him.

"You're almost your darling self today, kid. Punk bastard," the older man straightened up. "Aside from flirting with me this morning, you seem almost normal. For you, anyway." Dante rubbed at his chest, pushing a rib back into place. He stood in his jeans in the dim little cabin, still soaked from the rain, looking as though there was no place in the world he'd rather be. Nero scowled at him.

"Fuck off, Dante." The teen settled onto the bed, hoping the older man would keep his distance for a moment. He tried to calm his breathing, but he was more than a little aroused, and his concentration had long since dissolved and dissipated into a haze of irrational and unwanted lust. _Why am I acting like this? I can't actually want him. That's beyond stupid, even for me._

"What did I do wrong now?" Dante tilted his head to the side, his tone implying that he wasn't exactly annoyed yet, but would be shortly. "Can you answer your own question, kid? Why are you letting this happen? And, to be honest, you've let a lot of other things happen, too." Dante stretched out his back, wincing a little. Nero ducked his head under the too-bright gaze, trying not to flinch when the bed dipped beside him.

"This would be easier if you would just leave me the hell alone. It's like you're a sucker for punishment or something," he growled at Dante, not really surprised that the man put himself right back in swinging range. Nero clenched his hands into the sheets and stared at the floor. Water dripped out of his hair and into his eyes, but he blinked it away. The cabin was cold, with icy drafts wafting over Nero's skin at each gust of wind from outside. He shivered and looked longingly at his clothing, wishing Dante would piss off for a while.

"I seem to be, don't I?" Dante leaned in and cupped Nero's face, his thumbs brushing gently over the teen's lips. He might as well have taken Nero's heart and squeezed it, because the youth froze in place, torn between rage and hope, unable to move. A series of soft kisses were pressed along his jawline, and Nero managed to get his thoughts together enough to shove Dante away. He hated that he wanted to drag the man closer and absorb some of his warmth. _Decide what you want from him right now, before he decides for you. _

The hunter refused to be pushed aside, catching Nero's demonic hand in his own and hanging on to it. "Don't I?" The man prompted, and Nero lifted his eyes only to be pinned in Dante's gaze. He swallowed involuntarily, feeling as though he'd been spread-eagled under a microscope and was about to be dissected.

"Yeah," he muttered, staring right back at Dante. The intense look the slayer fixed him with was nearly too much to bear, so Nero plowed onwards. "You're kind of stupid like that."

Dante smiled, his fingers trailing over Nero's cheek and outlining his lips. It was getting more difficult to breathe, and bolting for the door was beginning to seem like the best idea he'd had all day. _I've got to stop this, before it goes any farther. I can't let this happen. _It was easier said than done. He licked Dante's fingertips before he could stop himself, craving the man's touch. A sensation something like terror flickered through him, and Nero couldn't decide whether to huddle nearer to Dante, or deck the man and run for it.

When Dante moved to pull him closer, Nero froze like a deer caught in headlights. With his usual impatience, Dante took control, prompting resistance on the youth's part. A brief struggle later, they wound up on the floor, tangled in a musty blanket. Nero ended up on top, straddling the elder's waist and feeling completely dumbfounded when Dante simply grinned up at him. The ex-Knight braced his palms against Dante's muscular chest, intending to propel himself away, but calloused hands slid down his back enticingly.

"Kid," Dante began, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on Nero's hipbones.

"I have a name," Nero snapped, ignoring the man's smirk.

"Alright. _Nero_," Dante drawled out the word. "What do you want?"

"What?" He scowled down at the slayer, shifting his weight and gasping when Dante took the opportunity to press his hips up against him.

"Well, apart from your little spell earlier, you seem pretty sane today, so why don't you tell me? For someone who wants nothing to do with me, you seem kinda interested at times."

Nero snorted. "I'm not right in the head, obviously."

"But if you were, where would we be?"

The teen frowned slightly, brow furrowing as he tried to find an appropriate response. A memory of himself and Dante, half-entwined but fully clothed on his bedroom floor, drifted across his thoughts. _Why did I allow that? Because I liked his touch, and it didn't matter how it ended, because I'd be dead or tossed aside afterwards anyway. _Nero sighed, trying to collect his thoughts. Beneath him, Dante was impossibly warm, and it took a huge amount of effort to keep from rocking against him.

"I'd be trying to brew a half-decent cup of coffee in your shitty kitchen, and you'd be asleep on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring." Nero paused, studying the older man. "You'd keep being perverted and too nice and I'd keep punching your stupid face when you crossed the line. I don't know, Dante. What the fuck kind of question is that? How should I know what might've happened? I can't even tell what's happening in the present, let alone some weird hypothetical future. Why do you care, anyway?" The teen took a deep breath, realizing he'd been shouting. Dante's hands were softly caressing his sides, maybe in an attempt to calm him down.

"So we'd be back at the office, like we were before you got sick," Dante stated, ignoring Nero's questions. "Is that what you want?"

Nero growled, his eyes narrowed. He felt swamped with emotion, unable to pick through the sludgy mass and decipher its pieces. A solitary finger slid down his spine, grazing each vertebra and sending a rush of blood straight to his cock. He tensed, blushing, as Dante's hands continued gliding over his skin. They stopped, gripped his hips, and applied a slight amount of downward pressure, encouraging the teen to rock forward. Nero refused, scratching at his nose in embarrassment.

"What do you mean?" he prompted, stubbornly avoiding eye contact.

"Would you have stayed?"

"Where? Your shithole city?"

"At the office." Dante let go of Nero's hips, his hands resting on the floor. His voice was quiet, sounding less exasperated than tired. "With me."

Nero froze, incapable of believing what he was hearing. "With you?" He breathed, unable to make himself glance down at the slayer. _He's lying. Look at you, doing exactly what he wants._

"Yeah," Dante confirmed. "Would you have stayed with me, or would you have moved on once you'd gotten used to living outside Fortuna?"

"I…" Nero stopped, swallowing nervously. So much of his past was unclear to him now, but he could remember this much. "I wanted to stay with you. There was plenty of work, and… we're the same. I would've stayed for a while, at least."

"That wasn't exactly what I meant, kid." Dante's gravelly voice was accompanied by another gentle touch to Nero's spine, and the teen couldn't repress a shiver. Under his palms he could feel the smooth muscles of Dante's chest, shifting beneath the slayer's skin with each breath.

"Yeah. I would've stayed," Nero blurted, before he could stop himself. "For as long as you'd let me." _There. Now he knows, for sure. You're pathetic. He won't keep you. _

Dante's eyes narrowed as he watched the teen, focusing on Nero's face. Calloused fingers brushed across his belly, and Nero hissed at the touch. He bent at the waist, resting most of his weight on the half-devil, and placed his palms on the floor on either side of Dante's head. The slayer's hands moved lower, stopping at the waistband of Nero's boxers. He quirked an eyebrow at the teen, his expression deadly serious, and it took every ounce of Nero's willpower to keep from grinding his hips downward.

"You mean it?" Dante asked again.

"Yeah." Nero drew in a shaky breath. "I do."

"And do you want this?" Dante stirred beneath him, the tiny amount of friction sending tremors down Nero's back. His mouth went dry at the sudden realization of what was happening, but he managed to nod, leaning down over the older man.

"You didn't last time though, did you?" Dante's expression was neutral, but Nero was certain he wasn't talking about jerking him off on the couch. "But even wounded, you could've stopped me if you'd wanted to. Why didn't you say something?"

"_You_ were out of your mind that time, old man. I thought you wouldn't listen." Nero refused to meet the slayer's eyes, unsure why Dante had brought this up now. It was a sore point; one he'd been unable to forget about. "And I was into it, at least for a little while." He remembered Dante's skin opening under his talons, the click of his claws against the man's backbone, blinding arousal that nearly drove him senseless.

"I would've stopped if you'd asked me to."

"That's easy to say now," Nero said, weary but not pissed off anymore. He bent a bit closer to Dante, his lips almost brushing the other man's. "Why are you bringing this up?"

Dante shook his head slightly, refusing to answer. For a long moment, the two simply remained still, watching each other. Nero sighed, anxiety pushing in on him. The muscles of his abdomen twitched when Dante lifted a hand and stroked upwards, and he inhaled sharply, senses tingling. Arousal sparked down his spine, and Nero closed his eyes and made a decision.

When Dante grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged him down, he allowed it, letting the man's tongue slide between his lips without a fight. He stopped holding himself up on his palms, instead lying prone against Dante, skin to skin. Their bodies moved with each respective breath, a slow, rhythmic motion. Dante's hands slid back to Nero's thighs, dragging the teen closer. He rolled his own hips upwards at the same time, and Nero stifled a groan as the slayer's hard length pressed against him.

"Oh fuck," he mumbled, slipping his arms beneath Dante's neck and bringing him nearer. Dante sucked at his mouth, and Nero kissed him back, crushing their lips together. The half-devil responded immediately, wrapping his arms around the lithe teen and flipping them over. Before Nero could protest the change in position, Dante stood swiftly, hauling the youth up with him.

"Back on the bed," Dante stated, and Nero found himself shoved down on the dusty mattress. Dante was on him in a second, straddling the teen's hips, gripping his wrists and pinning his hands onto the blankets. Nero thrashed defiantly, arousal blazing through his veins. He yelped when Dante started to grind against him, the thin cloth of his boxers chafing against the slayer's jeans. Dante kissed him violently, their teeth clicking together. Blood blossomed in Nero's mouth as he felt his lower lip split, and he flinched as Dante's tongue darted over the wound, the man humming in approval.

His wrists were released after a moment, Dante's full weight pressing down onto him, and Nero arched against the hunter, craving more contact. He couldn't think, his breathing was completely out of control, and he was so hard it hurt. Dante dropped his mouth to Nero's throat, scraping his teeth over the teen's jugular and leaving raised welts. Nero hissed at the sensation, biting his lip to keep from groaning when a slick tongue slid lower and circled his nipple. He clutched at Dante, talons and fingernails scraping down the other man's bare back, trying to gain more friction. He turned as Dante lifted his head to look at him, pale eyes dark with desire.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," he said thickly, his breathing roughening as he gazed at the aroused and flustered teen. "I mean it, Nero. I'll stop if you want. Just tell me."

"Don't you dare," Nero gasped, half-delirious. He reached down to fumble with Dante's jeans, yanking the button undone and swiftly unzipping them. Dante drew him into another kiss, and Nero felt his boxers pulled down to his knees. He kicked them lower and then off, boldly reaching around to Dante's waist and pushing the slayer's jeans down. Dante chuckled throatily in his ear, pausing in his caresses long enough to wriggle out of his pants.

"Oh fuck," Nero blurted again, the heat of a searing erection pressed against his own. His hips jerked without his consent, and then Dante caught him in a crushing grip, pinning him down and rutting against him. The intensity was almost frightening, but Nero was drawn in like a moth to a flame. He spread his legs before he could stop himself, gratified when Dante groaned in response. The man sucked at his throat, holding him tightly enough that he could barely breathe. Just when Nero though he wouldn't be able to take anymore, that he'd cum or die or something, Dante pulled away.

Cool leather brushed against his skin, and Nero turned to find that Dante had pulled his trench coat next to them and was rummaging through its pockets. He heard a rustle, and then Dante was sitting up a bit, tearing open a plastic packet with his teeth. Nero watched as the man coated his fingers and then his cock with a slick liquid, tensing in anticipation. Dante leaned back down to kiss Nero under his ear, then knelt beside the teen.

"C'mere," he muttered, catching hold of Nero's bicep and towing him closer. Nero fumbled forward until he was straddling the hunter's lap, Dante's powerful arms wrapping warmly around him. Nero returned the embrace, dropping his mouth to Dante's shoulder and letting his teeth sink into the muscle. A slick finger was shoved viciously inside him in retaliation, and Nero moaned and bit down harder, hot blood filling his mouth. He felt like he was reaching the breaking point, beyond which he'd be completely out of control. Dante's proximity only increased the chaos in his head.

"Go easy," Dante snarled, dragging his teeth along the teen's clavicle. Nero pulled away, panting, but the older man tightened his grip. "Relax, kid." Nero choked back a groan as another finger slid into his ass, his heart beating frantically. Dante twisted and scissored his fingers roughly, eliciting gasps from the writhing teen. Nero's breath hitched with every movement, arousal blending pain and pleasure together until he didn't know what he was feeling. He pushed his hips forward, rubbing his swollen length against Dante's taut stomach.

"Nero." Dante's raspy voice wormed its way into the teen's thoughts, the tone making it blatantly clear that he'd been trying to claim his attention for a while.

"Hmm?" Nero responded distractedly, his mouth filled with the metallic taste of Dante's blood. He rocked wantonly against the half-devil, not caring that he looked like a slut. _Doesn't matter. Do what you want. He thinks you're a soulless whore anyway._ Nero forced the thoughts away, trying to focus on Dante.

"Before, when I… I mean, after Lady got hurt, and I f-" Dante couldn't seem to decide on his words. "Before, when you and I were together, was that your first time?" He asked hurriedly, one hand rubbing slow circles on Nero's lower back.

"What do you think, genius?" Nero snarled. The question felt like a kick to the gut, and the teen let his talons rend Dante's flesh down to the bone. "Why are you asking me now?" Nero leaned back to look at Dante's face, catching a glimpse of guilt flickering in his arctic eyes. The half-devil's caresses slowed, but didn't stop, and after a moment Nero dropped his face to Dante's shoulder.

"Figured I should," Dante answered finally. He eased a third finger into Nero, more gently this time, and pressed a trail of wet kisses along the teen's throat. Nero let him, his body becoming more and more responsive with each touch. He hissed when Dante pulled his fingers free, the man's mouth claiming his own once more. Dante's hands pushed under his thighs and lifted him up a bit. The heat of a hard cock rubbing against his ass left Nero feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

Dante must have sensed his distress, because he released Nero's mouth. "You wanna stop?" he asked, voice hazed with lust. When Nero shook his head, he continued. "It's alright. Just push down slow. No faster than you want it."

Even after being prepped, the penetration stung. By the time he'd fully sheathed Dante's straining erection, Nero's legs were trembling, and he panted as the hunter nipped at his throat. Still, it wasn't as though he was unused to pain, and compared to getting run-through by Alastor or scalded with holy water, his present discomfort was trivial. Surging arousal claimed what little control he had left, and Nero braced his arms on Dante's shoulders, rocking up and forward before slamming back down.

"Fuck, Dante," Nero sighed, almost delirious. The sensation nearly knocked the breath out of him, but he lifted his hips to repeat the movement, Dante's hands helping guide him. They quickly found a rhythm, half-entwined around each other, friction warming them against the chill in the room. Nero was barely coherent, and Dante seemed to be murmuring something in his ear but he couldn't concentrate enough to find out what. His arms were locked around the older man's neck, hands tangled in ivory hair.

He barely noticed when Dante leaned forward and changed their position, hardly registering that he was being pressed down into the mattress or that he'd lost his previous control.

"Gotta slow you down a bit," Dante mumbled, not nearly as out of breath as Nero. He brushed the teen's damp bangs off his forehead, and Nero tried his damnedest to focus. He lifted his knees and stifled a wince as Dante pushed in further, hooking his legs around the hunter's waist.

"What do you mean, slow down?" Nero snarled. "You can't take it slow with me now to make up for before, you fucker," he panted, squirming against the slayer's muscular chest. Dante was watching him with a strange expression, his fingers gliding gently over Nero's jawline. The teen felt pinned in his gaze and turned away, only to have Dante catch him under the chin and make him meet his eyes.

"Don't," Nero breathed, aching with arousal. He bucked up against the half-devil, encouraging him to continue.

"Look at me, Nero," Dante growled. "Pay attention." He moved forward until Nero was nearly bent double under him, the teen hissing at the sensation. Nero sank his claws into the man's back, meeting each slow, hard thrust with a rock of his hips. Dante refused to let him look away, and the intensity and intimacy of the situation wove threads of panic through Nero's being. His breath hitched with each deliberate slide of the man's cock, and when Dante shoved in deeper, sparks burst in front of his eyes. Nero moaned against his will, hating how wanton he sounded.

Dante kissed him mercilessly in response, a harsh counterpart to his languid thrusts. Nero gasped, sucking at his tongue, his legs shaking. He felt as though he'd gotten caught in a riptide and was being dragged under. Dante moved insistently, and it was all Nero could do to hang on. The slayer's hands gripped his hips hard enough to bruise, pinning him to the mattress once more. He knew Dante had as much blood under his nails as he did, and he could only writhe as the slayer pounded into him.

And then he couldn't breathe, and his vision went white, and maybe he'd bitten Dante again 'cause his mouth was full of blood. Pleasure roared through him like a tidal wave, obliterating everything in its path. He thought he heard Dante groan and curse his name, and then his release swept him over the edge and into the dark well of unconsciousness.

* * *

Please let me know what you think of this chapter and the story so far; even if you think it sucks, your feedback makes me happy and encourages me to continue. The first version of this chapter totally had a plot in it, and the consequences of the smexiness, but it got bumped into the next one. And yeah, my transitions are always the same, haha unconsciousness. Hmm… Opening of DMC4, Dante saying to Nero "We're the same, you and I… and them." That was totally in my head for this whole chapter (and well, other chapters too, but…). Anyway, please review, or critique, or something. Happy (almost) New Year! :D


	20. Might

Doubt

This is rated M for language, violence, disturbing content, and sexual themes. Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC, and that fact saddens me greatly.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! All feedback is appreciated; I just want to snuggle all of you, and I hope that doesn't creep you out too much, haha. Special thanks to Nefarious Seraph 13, Alaizabel Cray, NaturalEvil, Amami.K, Konyi, Evil-Snow-Bear, Lotus Butterfly, Rustyy'chan, TazziJadeBlack, Valenwind, mist shadow, Blood of Dusk, Ivory Tears, chibimoonfox, ClouDy SkieZ1, Cielshadow17, FuneralBell, honeyberries, Mittelan, bitbyboth, SirenaLoreley, bleueyz, JustHexx, and HikariNoTenshi-San.

I took a break from writing this 'cause I was starting to hate it, and although I feel the last six chapters need copious amounts of editing and re-arranging, I'm going to finish this before starting revisions. I took liberties with Kyrie's characterization (and despite the fact that she is DMC's first female lead that cannot defend herself, I'm starting to like her), and to reiterate, in this fic, she's Nero's adoptive sister, nothing more. Tunes included Florence and the Machine's "Seven Devils" (holy fuck, what a voice). As always, critiques are welcomed.

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Chapter Twenty: Might

It seemed to Nero that somewhere between Capulet City and this god-cursed cabin, he'd regained his trust in Dante. Which was stupid. Dante was an extremely dangerous, nearly invincible jerk-face with hidden motivations and an incomprehensibly juvenile sense of humour. It was the height of ridiculousness to put any faith in him at all, and yet Nero had managed to, not just once but twice now. There was no use denying it. He'd believed Dante when the other had said he would help, even if he couldn't understand why. _And then you let him fuck you. What the hell were you thinking?_

The lithe teen didn't bother opening his eyes. He ran his tongue over his teeth; his mouth tasted like old blood. It seemed like he was exhausted all the time now, like a wind-up toy that was losing momentum. Even lying in the rickety bed, his limbs felt heavy and leaden. Only his boundless rage could propel him, and it seemed like he'd been drained even of that. _Not good if you're too tired to even be pissed off. _A clang of metal against the floor snapped Nero out of his daze, and he sat up in time to see Dante glance at him sheepishly, a shiny copper pot gleaming in his hand.

"C'mon. We should get back on the road. I want to get to the ferry in time for the night crossing." The hunter stepped closer, and Nero suddenly became very aware that while Dante was fully clothed once more, he himself was sprawled naked on the bed. He felt himself blush, and Dante grinned smugly at him. "I got the camp-stove running, so there's coffee, and water for you to wash up with." Dante reached for him, the presumption of possession evident in the movement, and Nero snarled back, leaning out of reach. _You really gave it up to him this time._

Shoving the overly confident half-devil away from him, Nero hauled himself out of bed, his body protesting. Dante leered at him, pale eyes flickering over his skin, but remained out of punching range. He stepped aside so Nero could stalk to the large bowl of hot water that had been set on the countertop.

"You're not exactly friendly, are you?" Dante mused, more to himself than to Nero. "At least that hasn't changed, although…"

"Fuck off, Dante." Nero turned to glare at the slayer. The taller man snorted but acquiesced, turning away to pack up their gear. Nero washed up quickly, grateful for the nearly-scalding water. The heat brought a clarifying edge of pain, forcing him to focus and helping to tamp down on the swirl of conflicting emotions and whims that fought in his mind. He tugged on the clean clothes that had been set aside for him, straightening up and coming face-to-face with Dante's completely fixated gaze.

"Something wrong, pervert?" he growled. The hunter grinned in response, a flash of incisors glistening in the dim light. Nero rolled his eyes, but Dante sauntered across the creaking floorboards and returned with a steaming cup of coffee. He offered it to the teen, who eyed it dubiously.

"It's instant, but not that bad. I didn't do anything weird to it, if that's what you're wondering," Dante drawled.

"Yeah, whatever." Nero accepted the coffee and drained the mug in a couple gulps. Dante seemed pleased, and Nero restrained himself from breaking the chipping ceramic cup over the slayer's head. He'd heard tales of awkward "mornings-after," but he wasn't quite sure if that was what he was experiencing right now. Dante didn't look at all uncomfortable in his presence, but then he didn't think he'd ever seen Dante look anything less than completely confident. Even stressed to the limit and utterly battered, Dante would still be sure of himself. Nero didn't know whether to be disgusted or jealous of that fact.

"Want some more?" Dante's words broke into Nero's musings, the suggestive tone catching the teen off guard. He blushed before he could subdue it, rubbing at his nose. The leer was creeping back over Dante's rugged features, although he looked as though he were trying to suppress it. _Great. Now he's laughing at you._

Nero shook his head, frowning, and moved away when Dante stepped closer. His skin crawled, and he couldn't tell whether it was because he felt threatened by Dante, or because he wanted the man. _Stupid, either way. Don't we have somewhere to go?_

"Listen, kid, I-"

"I don't care, Dante. We need to leave."

"Are you alright? I mean…"

"I'm fine," Nero spat, a small piece of his brain laughing at the irony of that statement. "Just leave me alone," he added lamely when Dante reached for him again. He narrowly evaded the touch, feeling his returning paranoia slinking in under his defenses like a dog on its belly.

"And there you have it," Dante announced, sounding as though he were speaking to a crowded room of people and not to Nero at all. "You were alright for what, three minutes there, and now you're looking like someone's gonna kill your puppy or somethin'. C'mon kid, talk to me. You don't even try to piss me off anymore, and that's not like you at all. Stop acting like you're scared of me. I know you're not, so stop pretending."

"I'm not fucking scared of you," Nero growled. "I'm just…" he trailed off, unsure of how to explain.

"Crazy?" Dante suggested. "Paranoid? Overly suspicious? Completely out-of-control and extremely dangerous?"

"Confused," Nero finished, glaring at the half-devil.

Dante raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Yeah. Even I could figure that much out." He picked up their bag of gear and slung it effortlessly over his shoulder. "Hopefully we'll find some answers for you in Fortuna."

"Hopefully I'll be coherent enough to hear them," Nero added, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice and failing.

"Yeah, that too," Dante mused, opening the door and stepping out into the mid-morning haze. Everything in the forest glistened from the previous rain; the water reflected the sunlight until every tree and spider-web looked as though it were covered in strands of diamonds. Nero followed after the hunter, blinking blearily at the brightness. _So what, is that it? He's going to act like we didn't just have sex? No need to chase after something you've already had?_

"Hey kid! Car's this way." Nero glanced up to see Dante's red coat disappearing into the trees. He jogged after him, catching up swiftly, and nearly ran headlong into Dante when the slayer stopped abruptly. Dante turned and caught him by the biceps, and Nero realized he was being toyed with.

"You're an asshole," he muttered, pulling himself free. Dante laughed, eyeing him sidelong, but didn't try to touch him again. They picked their way along the narrow path, the forest scented with damp leaves and rich humus. Blue Rose was a familiar weight on his thigh, but Nero felt oddly off-balance without the Red Queen across his back and the familiar aura of Yamato encircling him. He flexed his talons, feeling the scales covering the devil-bringer bend and click.

"You miss it?" Nothing escaped Dante's sharp eyes. When Nero nodded, he continued. "I honestly wondered if taking the Yamato away from you would change things. I was kinda hoping it might just be something that simple after all. Guess we know that's not the case, huh?"

"Yeah. Would've been nice though," Nero grumbled, and Dante chuckled in agreement.

"It's always gotta be complicated," he stated, shaking his head as he climbed over a fallen tree with uncanny grace. "I did bring your Red Queen though, so you'll have something if Fortuna's not all that friendly."

"Fortuna being unfriendly. I can't even image that," Nero drawled, focusing on Dante and trying to ignore the darkness beginning to stir in the depths of his mind. The slayer glanced over his shoulder to smirk at him, but Nero frowned back, his vision flickering. He saw Dante's expression turn exasperated, but it was getting more and more difficult to concentrate. He stumbled over a branch and nearly staggered headlong into a birch tree.

"Nero? Ah fuck. Here we go."

* * *

It was dark and cramped, and when he moved his head in a vain attempt to look around, he clunked it against a hard surface. The confines of his space rumbled and shook, and with each jarring bump Nero became acutely aware that he was very much tied up. Behind his back, his wrists felt as though they'd been sewn together with a rusted needle and metallic thread. His legs were bound together at his ankles, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see by the light his own infrared body provided that he was inside the trunk of a vehicle. Dante's car, if he had to guess. His back ached, and he was willing to bet it was because he'd been unceremoniously tossed onto Rebellion and the Red Queen.

"Fucking damnit," he snarled, moving as much as he could to kick, double-footed, at the sides of the trunk. It was awkward, but apparently he made enough noise for Dante to hear and check on him. He felt the car slow, pull onto the shoulder, and then stop. A second later, Dante was grinning down at him, silhouetted by the last remnants of what appeared to be a sunset.

"I fucking hate you," Nero hissed, wishing his hands were free so he could take a swipe at the man. Dante reached into the trunk and the metal cord surrounding his ankles swiftly unfurled, sidling into Dante's palm with serpentine grace and a spark of darkly purple electricity.

"C'mon kid. Don't be like that." The hunter pulled Nero closer, helping him sit up before reaching around to free his hands. Dante gathered the silvery cord into a loop and tucked it into his coat. Nero punched him, quick as a rattlesnake strike, before he could step away. The slayer wiped the blood from his chin nonchalantly, offering his hand to help the teen from the trunk.

"Good to see you're feeling better. You just wake up now?"

Nero ignored the proffered hand and clambered clumsily onto the ground. "Yeah," he muttered, looking around with interest. The temperature was warmer, nearly balmy, and salt scented the air. "We're in Fortuna?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, in the remnants of Echidna's forest. We got to the ferry earlier than I expected and caught the afternoon crossing."

"So I was… out for a while?" Nero shut the trunk and leaned back against the car, inhaling slowly in order to catch every scent on the breeze: roses and sea salt and lush tropical greenery. Despite the deep-seated uneasiness that completely enveloped him, and which he could not shake off, part of him was happy to be home. Fortuna was a better town than Capulet City in every way. _Except for one-_ Nero kicked that thought from his mind as fast as it appeared, tapping his claws against the car and looking everywhere but at Dante.

"Seven hours. Sometimes crazed, sometimes just delirious. For the last three it seemed like you were sleeping, but you were, I dunno, almost comatose or something." Dante's pale eyes searched him, his expression concerned. "Do you remember any of it?"

"Just leaving the cabin and heading back to the car. So you what, tied me up and threw me in the trunk? Asshole." _You're getting worse every time. How soon before you don't come back at all? What do you think he'll do with you then?_

"We needed to get on the road. It's not like I needed you for directions, or charming conversation, or anything." Dante smirked, but it seemed forced. Nero brushed his bangs out of his eyes awkwardly, unable to think of a retort. His wrists still tingled with the remnants of the demonic wire's power, triggering a memory of the last time he'd been bound. Dante was looking at him quizzically, and Nero flushed, stumbling back a step.

"So you just keep pieces of Nevan in your pockets or something? Doesn't that piss her off?" He blurted, trying to save face and wondering why he bothered.

Dante raised an eyebrow, lifting his arms behind his head and stretching. "I do now; her strings are strong enough to contain even you. And too bad if it annoys her. I defeated the bitch; she's mine forever," he laughed coldly.

Nero suppressed a shiver at his words and turned away from the slayer. He was surprised to hear Dante speak that way about one of his Devil Arms, but he supposed there would have to be a certain level of animosity there. It was Dante's job to kill things. If he had any compassion for the hell-beasts, they'd only use it against him. _He killed his own brother, remember? Do you really think that it will be that hard for him to do the same to you? _

Dante sauntered back towards the front of the car, and Nero headed for the passenger seat, settling next to him. He rubbed at his wrists, watching both human and demonic flesh slowly heal from where the cord had cut into them. _What do you know about him, really?_

The slayer shifted the car into gear and pulled back onto the road, and Nero stared out the window. "It's weird that they give you their souls. I defeated Berial and Echidna, too."

Dante glanced at him sidelong. "You won a fight with them. You didn't finish them off. That's the difference. Nevan had a choice between being destroyed forever and becoming a Devil Arm." The hunter shrugged. "It's not like she didn't know what she was doing. And who cares anyway? Did she talk or something while the two of you were getting intimate in the trunk?"

Nero scoffed, refusing to dignify the question with an answer. Dante turned his focus back on the road as nightfall darkened the jungle. "I'm gonna leave the car in the forest and head into town on foot. You can come with me if you want; I won't make you, though. It might be better if you stayed away, especially if you lose your mind and, you know, try to annihilate everything in your path."

"I'm going with you," Nero stated, and Dante nodded, unsurprised. They left the car tucked in behind what might once have been a glorious temple, but now was a crumbling ruin. Nero pulled on a hoodie and his blue duster, rolling the sleeve down over his demonic arm and tugging the hood up to hide his hair. Dante watched him, amusement quirking his lips.

"So, is that your disguise, or something?"

"Better than yours, old man. What are you going as, the guy who crashed through the opera house roof in the middle of a sermon and shot the elderly church leader in the face? 'Cause I don't think anybody would notice that, at all."

Dante laughed, catching Nero by the front of his coat before the teen could get out of the way. He leaned in close and Nero froze, unable to decide how to respond. "Sometimes you sound like your old self, punk." His lips brushed gently against Nero's as he spoke, and Nero knew the other felt him shiver before he could prevent it. Dante kissed him languidly, and Nero let him, figuring it wasn't the first time his better judgement had been ignored. He felt his fingers sink into Dante's ivory strands, and suddenly he'd been pushed hard against the side of the car, the kiss deepening until he was breathless.

He responded because he couldn't help it, tightening his grip and pulling Dante closer, basking in the warmth of the other's body pressed against him. Dante's tongue slipped into his mouth, and he heard himself growl softly, shuffling so that their hips slid together. For a moment they stilled, nearly wrapped around each other, but then Dante released him as abruptly as he'd started. "Damn it, Nero," he murmured. "I-" he began, then shook his head. Nero stared, wiping his lips on his sleeve, wondering if sometimes Dante was just as fucked up as he was.

He turned away just as Dante was leaning towards him again, rattled and confused. _Just focus on the task at hand. Figure this out first. Deal with Dante later. _Nero slung the Red Queen onto his back and loaded Blue Rose, reassured by the familiar click of the rounds sliding into place. He tried not to fidget while Dante hauled out Rebellion, but it was difficult. He felt like he was standing on a half-rotted wharf, and he could look down between the damaged timbers and see the mire of panic and rage twisting below him, stirring like a change in the tide, waiting for him to fall into it, sink to the bottom and drown.

"Think you can find Kyrie?" The slayer asked, his voice snapping Nero out of his thoughts. His tone was calm, casual, as though he hadn't just pinned the younger slayer to the car and kissed him senseless.

"Yeah. We used to live near the barracks, in a…" Nero trailed off, unable to continue. His home in Fortuna, where he'd grown up with Kyrie and Credo, had vanished from his memories. Dante was watching him strangely, waiting for him to finish. Nero forced a confident tone than he certainly did not feel. "Yeah I can find her. She's my little sister. How hard could it be?"

* * *

Please review, or snuggle. Yay snuggles! Sorry about the wait; I know it's been a while. I'm going to try to finish this up on a post every other week, hopefully. If you're confused, a brief synopsis of this whole fic is: Nero gets everything wrong, and Dante does everything wrong.

I know this chapter was a bit different stylistically but hopefully it wasn't too jarring; I wanted to switch it up a little bit so reading this doesn't become a slog. And the darker bits aren't as obvious, but definitely still there if you look for them. I realize I cut Kyrie out of this chapter, but she'll be in the next one. And I'd love to write more about Nevan (I always found that cut-scene kind of disturbing). Anyway, would love to hear your thoughts, even if you hate it. :D


	21. Wisdom

Doubt

This is rated M for language, violence, disturbing content, and sexual themes. Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC, and that fact saddens me greatly.

A/N: So, writer's block sucks. I really need to get this thing finished, it's been dragging on for far too long. Hopefully people will remember a little bit of the plot, otherwise this chapter's gonna be really jarring. Had trouble writing Kyrie… Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed! I can only respond to people who log in and allow messages, but all feedback is appreciated!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: Wisdom

Nights in Fortuna were warm and balmy, and Nero had to admit he'd missed wandering along the cobblestone streets. He'd always felt at home in the darkened passages, protecting the town without having to deal with the fearful looks of its citizens. His relationship with the residents of Fortuna had been an uneasy one; that much, at least, he could remember. Where exactly in the town he'd lived was a different story. He knew, logically, that he and Credo and Kyrie would have stayed in a house near one of the barracks. Unfortunately, that bit of information wasn't all that useful. Fortuna was still home to a militant cult. The castle-town had almost as many barracks as Capulet City had brothels.

Dante trailed after him, remaining quiet with what must have been considerable willpower as Nero scouted house after house unsuccessfully. They'd been able to avoid the townsfolk so far; apart from the downtown core, the streets emptied at night, and patrols of guards only marched past every hour. Still, the fact that he'd forgotten the home he'd grown up in filled Nero with a mixture of frustration and dread. Frustration, because he was sure Dante was suppressing a smirk after watching him pick his way stealthily through a flowerbed, and dread, because if he couldn't remember his past, then what chance did he have at a future?

Nero resisted the urge to rake his fingers through his hair and scream in frustration, choosing instead to leap deftly over the low stone wall surrounding the next house. They were nearing the center of town now, heading closer to the cathedral. He heard the soft scuff of Dante's boots behind him, and he crept swiftly to the largest window. The room he gazed into was warmly lit, and nearly filled with the presence of a gleaming piano. He didn't know this place, at all, but something made this room different from the others he'd spied into tonight. _Piano. Music. Kyrie. _He wasn't sure he was right; he distrusted his thoughts as much as everything else, if not more. _But still…_

Nero beckoned with his devil-bringer, and a second later Dante was at his side, a warm, hazy presence in the darkness. He watched Nero with a guarded expression, as though he was expecting a fight. Nero didn't care; it was better than the smug "you're mine" look that the slayer had been wearing earlier.

"Is this the place?" Dante's gaze flickered over the building before returning to Nero. "Or are you not sure?" His tone wasn't mean or mocking, and somehow that made it worse. Nero turned to scowl at the hunter, but movement from within the house caught his attention. He ducked further into the shadows and Dante followed, but not before they'd both caught a glimpse of an auburn-haired young woman, walking gracefully into the room. She was singing softly to herself, and although her voice was muffled by the walls it still contained a chilling purity.

"That's her. I remember that song from my first trip here," Dante stated, and Nero looked at him incredulously for a moment before gathering himself. _You just failed to recognize your own sister. That's just…_

"I'll knock. You wait here until we've figured out where the girl stands in all of this."

"Kyrie wouldn't hurt me," Nero blurted. Dante scoffed, pointing at the window. _He knows you don't know her. He knows, and-_

"Is that Kyrie? Are you sure? 'Cause I think it's her, although I'm willing to consider your opinion here too, seeing as how you're siblings."

Nero gritted his teeth to keep from lashing out, his hands curled into fists at his sides. "Fine. I'll wait behind the holly trees; that way I can listen, too," he forced himself to compromise. _You always knew you couldn't come back here. Maybe now you'll find out why._

Dante knocked sharply at the door, loudly enough that Nero hissed and glanced furtively at the empty street behind them. He wondered idly how long it had taken Dante to learn how to knock at doors without smashing his fists through them, or pick up glasses without shattering them, or to work a car's gearshift without ripping out the transmission. The world wasn't designed for Dante any more than it was for him, with his freakish arm. Nero sighed impatiently, wanting to kick open the door and barge in. This was his home too, technically, wasn't it?

The door opened a second later, and a soft formal greeting was followed by a startled gasp. Nero glanced up from his hiding place, and glimpsed his adoptive sister for the first time in months. It seemed like longer. _Forever, maybe._ Nero winced at the thought and brushed it aside, forcing himself to relax. _That line of thinking won't do any good at all. Focus, for fuck's sake; there's a chance to figure this out here._

Kyrie looked tired, even in the soft light coming from the hallway behind her. Her attire was simple and modest if not standard Fortuna fashion: a white blouse and pleated dark skirt, black tights and the Order's traditional leather boots. Her long, reddish hair was pulled back in a loose braid; a few wispy strands had escaped and framed her face, making her look younger than she actually was. Kyrie wiped her eyes to peer at Dante more closely, and Nero noted the black mourning band encircling her ring finger. She seemed confused, as though she didn't know what to say, and part of Nero cursed Dante for remaining silent and making his little sister look so uncomfortable.

"Kyrie?" Dante finally offered, obviously attempting to put some thought behind his words for once. Or maybe figuring that flirting with Nero's sister the way he did with every other woman alive might lead to a serious ass-kicking, seeing as how Nero was hidden not ten feet away.

Kyrie nodded. "You're Dante, right?" She glanced out at the street, and Nero wondered if she'd scream for the night watch. But then she seemed to make up her mind, and stepped back into the house. "You'd better get inside before the guards come back around."

"I thought my role in saving this town would've put me in the guards' good graces," Dante muttered.

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Kyrie sounded both deeply saddened and exhausted. Her words had a hard, flat edge that Nero had never heard before. He suddenly wanted to kill whoever it was that'd made her sound that way. He stepped out from his hiding place and was on the front steps beside Dante a moment later, trying to affix what might appear to be a comforting smile on his face. She was his sister. He could manage it for her.

A shriek escaped Kyrie's lips before she covered her mouth with her hands and staggered backwards, her eyes round with shock and horror. She gasped for breath, then began to sob in earnest, bent almost double. She stumbled further into the house, reaching the stairs at the edge of the entrance hall and collapsing onto them. Dante promptly shoved Nero inside and swiftly followed, shutting the door behind them.

Kyrie was damn near hysterical, her words incoherent. She shrank back when Nero approached her, and so he stayed away, hovering awkwardly by an end-table, wondering if there was anyone else in the house. The entrance hall was dim, and contained multiple closed doorways. The house itself seemed empty and soulless, and Nero found himself wishing for the piano room he'd spied into minutes earlier. That chamber, at least, had had some light and sense of life to it. Dante walked around the distraught songstress and further down the hallway, leaving her and Nero alone.

"You're not real. You're not real," she gasped, tears streaming down her face, smearing what little make-up she wore.

"Kyrie," Nero began, shuffling closer. He didn't want to scare her, and wasn't that just like old times, when the devil-bringer had first manifested and he'd had to tiptoe everywhere, wrapped in bandages and a sling. He crouched down in front of her, keeping his movements slow. "Kyrie, it's me. I know I was gone for a while; I was in Capulet City, on the mainland."

She didn't look convinced, and Nero scratched at his nose, wondering what else he could say. She wasn't calming down at all, her eyes wide and frantic. Her fingers clenched, white-knuckled, in the fabric of her skirt.

"You're not real," she whispered again. "You're dead. Dead. I saw you buried." Her voice, pitched low, was hard and utterly certain. "I took off your rings and your hand was cold." She dissolved into helpless sobbing again, and it was all Nero could do to keep from shaking her. He kept his voice level through sheer force of will.

"What? What do you mean, Kyrie? I'm not dead. I'm right here, see." He gestured with his devil-bringer, trying to think of something, anything, to say that would comfort her. He had an idea, lurking in the back of his mind, that if he could convince her that he was real, alive, _Nero_, then he could convince himself of that, too. _If I have to. Damn. _

Dante chose that moment to reappear, a dusty bottle of wine and three glasses in his hands. "Why don't we move to the parlour? We're a little exposed here in the hallway." He turned to Nero, and the teen had the uncanny perception that Dante had heard everything Kyrie had said. "The house is empty. It's just us here."

Nero caught Kyrie gently by the elbow and helped her to stand, Dante's watchful gaze upon the pair of them. She wasn't flinching from his presence anymore, but her expression was one of extreme disbelief. She let him help her down the hallway, and by the time he'd found the parlour (_right where it always was, remember?_) she was able to walk by herself.

The room was dusty from disuse, grime covering the mantle and the family photographs (he and Kyrie, he and Kyrie and Credo, he and Credo on the day he'd been knighted) that lined it. He wondered if Kyrie didn't bring anyone here; if she didn't have friends or guests of the Order or even music students to visit. Or maybe she just didn't use this room, she'd always complained it was stuffy and overly formal, hadn't she? He couldn't remember.

Nero rubbed at his eyes blearily, helping settle Kyrie on the sofa. He set the Red Queen and Blue Rose gently on the floor before sinking into a chair opposite her. Dante pulled the cork from the wine bottle with his teeth and sloshed generous amounts into the glasses. Nero took one and pressed another into Kyrie's shaking hands. He drained his, and then held it out to Dante for a refill, which was immediately and enthusiastically obliged.

Dante propped Rebellion against the nearest wall and took a chair close by, the man's gaze drifting between Nero and the young woman. He drank his wine methodically, fingers tapping against the glass as the only sign of his agitation and impatience. Nero thought it must be killing Dante to be staying so quiet and still, but there was something about the house that demanded it. The atmosphere was almost that of a wake. _Certainly picked the right room for it, then. _

"Hey, we didn't mean to upset you, babe. We just wanna talk. We wouldn't have dropped by if we'd thought you'd (-here Nero thought Dante would say, 'flip out,' or, 'go apeshit,' or something equally improper, but apparently Dante was indeed capable of acting like a grown-up at times, because he managed to be polite-) be frightened. So why the reaction? What's wrong?" Dante smiled charmingly and nonchalantly at the songstress, somehow managing to tone down the dangerous aura he always seemed to emanate until he was just another guy concerned for her well-being. Nero felt like rolling his eyes.

"I-" Kyrie stammered, then took a sip of wine. She twisted the glass nervously in her dainty hands, looking at Nero, her face anguished.

"Nero's dead," she whispered. "I was so sure of it. I think I still am. Seven months ago, they… Officials from the Order came to the door, said there'd been an accident. Three Knights died, and one of them was Nero." She wiped her eyes again, turning to Dante, her voice rising in volume. "And… And I think you're being a real asshole, playing this sort of sick joke on me. I mean, he was my brother, and now I've lost both of them, and…" She couldn't continue, blindly setting her glass on the coffee-table so she could bury her face in her sleeves.

"No, Kyrie, this isn't a joke. It's me, it's Nero. Believe me. I need your help." He felt stupid saying it, but it was necessary.

"Can't help the dead," Kyrie sobbed.

"I mean it. Kyrie!"

She looked up, as startled as he was that he'd raised his voice. He moved to sit beside her on the sofa, forcing himself to remain patient with her. "We need you to tell us everything you know about what happened to me." He thought for a moment, and then gritted his teeth. "Please." Nero watched as Kyrie tried to gather herself. She took a deep, steadying breath, reaching for her wine glass and hastily taking a gulp.

"I couldn't believe it, what they said. After the Saviour incident, all that fighting, all that killing was over. We were cleaning up the town. Demon numbers were dwindling. Things were getting better, becoming peaceful again. And after he- after _you_ survived all that, to go on a routine mission and…" Kyrie shook her head.

"They told you I died on a routine mission?" Nero muttered incredulously. "I mean, did they not see me smash that giant statue?"

Kyrie took another sip of wine, watching Nero sadly. "They just said that something went wrong, an accident, and that you and two others didn't survive it. They asked me to go with them to the morgue, to confirm that it was you. And it was you, I swear it was," she stated earnestly, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "I took your rings. I don't remember much else. There weren't many people around. I signed some documents and they said they'd bring the Red Queen and Blue Rose to the house, but they never did." She looked thoughtfully at the weapons for a moment before continuing. "They sent me home with some church women, who stayed for a few days, until the funeral. The graves are up at the castle, if you don't believe me. I believed with all my heart that you'd died. I mourned you. And now, it's just too much. I can't…" Flustered, she drained her glass, trying to keep control of herself.

Nero glanced at Dante in time to catch the man staring hard at him, his eyes narrowed. He glared back as a matter of principle, and Dante shrugged his shoulders. Kyrie sniffled, and Nero turned back towards her in time to catch her as she threw herself into his arms. He held her awkwardly, rubbing her back, careful that his talons didn't catch in the fine fabric of her blouse.

"I hope it's really you," she murmured. "I hope it's you, and that this isn't a dream."

"Yeah, me too," Nero replied, ignoring Dante's sharp glance.

The slayer rose to his feet, stretching, his leather garments creaking as he moved. Nero watched him saunter around the room, relaxed but still utterly lethal, and felt an odd twinge in his chest. _He's gonna kill me, if we don't figure this out. He won't have a choice. _Dante stepped back towards them as Kyrie managed to detach herself from Nero and sit up a bit, looking like she hadn't slept in weeks.

"The Order's telling lies again, then," Kyrie stated softly. "If they say you're dead, but here you are. Either they're lying, or you two are, and it's the Order that's got the track record of that. And, I want them to be lying, because then you're alive, and safe, and right here with me. Does that make any sense?" She giggled, and there was a slightly hysterical twinge to it. Nero sent Dante a look that pleaded for assistance.

"You said you have Nero's rings. Where are they now?" Dante queried softly.

"On the mantle, just to your left. I set them behind the photo of Nero and Credo. I didn't know where else to put them, to keep them safe. I… I was supposed to have Credo's rings too, as is the custom, but, well…" Kyrie stopped herself from rambling and pointed. Dante reached behind the picture frame, gingerly collecting the rings. He held them out, flat on his palm, and gave Nero a strange glance. Nero shrugged, resisting the urge to pluck at the rings encircling his fingers. _They must be fakes. Kyrie must be mistaken about the rings, like she was mistaken about me_.

"Why don't you go to bed, Kyrie? We'll figure this out, and you need some rest." Dante reached out with his other hand and tugged the songstress to her feet. She nodded in agreement and yawned.

"Your room is how you left it," she told Nero. "And Credo's too. No one stays here but me, so as long as you keep away from the windows and watch which lights you've got on, no one will notice that you're here. If you… If you want to stay, of course." She looked at him searchingly, and Nero found himself wondering if she was lonely, rattling around in a large house that was made for a whole family of people, not just one girl.

"Yeah, we'll stay here tonight," Nero reassured her. "We'll need to talk again in the morning, to put together a plan. And to catch up." He forced himself to smile, hating that it was so difficult to be _normal_.

They collected their weapons and returned as a group to the hallway, and Kyrie, after a last, miserable but hopeful glance at Nero, went upstairs to her room. Nero found a second corridor leading off the first into another wing of the house, and tried every door on it before finding what must have been his old bedroom.

"Good thing Kyrie didn't see that just now. She had a hard enough time believing us as it was. She must've though, to wander off to bed and leave us to roam the house." Dante followed him into the room, his pale eyes sliding over the simple furniture. "Of course, that wine seemed to hit her fairly hard; girls in this town are probably pretty cheap d-"

"Insult my sister's honour and I'll kick your ass, Dante," Nero snarled, scowling at his bed. It felt strange to be in this room, to look at these things, his possessions, and not recognize them. A few books were stacked haphazardly on a desk near the window, clothes and bits of armour had been tossed over the back of a chair, knives and records cluttered a nightstand. All of it made his skin crawl, and Dante's presence wasn't helping that one little bit. "Get out. Credo's room is further down the hall, I think."

Dante snorted. "And what, leave the time-bomb alone with the defenseless and innocent citizens of Fortuna? Just show up with a bundle of paranoia and rage and dump it in their laps? You're not exactly good for the community right now." He gestured at the bed. "And it's a double, so we'll share." Dante's voice seemed cold, and Nero squared his shoulders as he faced him. They stared hard at each other for a long moment, then Dante spoke again.

"Seven months. What do you think of that? You were only at the office for four and a half, five at the most." There was an unvoiced threat, an accusation in the slayer's voice, and Nero didn't know what to make of it. Something twisted in his chest.

"Yeah." He scowled.

"And I don't suppose you-"

"I don't remember, in case you haven't noticed," the teen hissed. He hated that Dante seemed so distant; it felt like a betrayal, almost.

"And Kyrie has your rings."

"She has a set of rings that look like mine. Trish and Lady found rings in the Temen-Ni-Gru than weren't mine either, remember?" He took an involuntary step back, but Dante moved forward again. _He's changed his mind about you, hasn't he? He's not so nice now, when you're becoming more trouble than you're worth._

"She was completely convinced you were dead, and that she'd seen you buried. And you don't have an opinion on that?"

"I don't know." Nero rubbed at his neck, trying to stretch out his tensed muscles. He couldn't seem to focus, couldn't find a response for Dante. "We could dig up the graves and see who's there," he laughed bitterly.

He must've looked as pathetic and crazy to Dante as he sounded to himself, because the man's eyes softened. Dante almost looked sad for a moment, before he seemed to catch himself. He sat down on Nero's bed, exhaling slowly. After a minute, Nero sat beside him, staring at the floor. He toyed with the rings on his left hand, letting his talons click against the metal. The blanket on the bed was an odd blue-grey shade that Nero didn't remember owning, the same way he didn't recognize the books or the music or the bullets or the elegant knives that littered the room.

"We'll need to go to the castle tomorrow night. We should go hunting on the way," Nero muttered.

"What, you want to work some charity demon slaying into our busy schedule of trespassing, spying and grave-robbing?" Dante's pale eyes were still strange, but there was the beginning of a smirk on his lips.

"It would make me feel better."

"What, the charity or the slaughter?"

"What do you think?"

Dante grinned at him then, leaning in close to graze his teeth over Nero's throat. The teen's eyes fluttered shut against his will, a shaky sigh escaping his lips as Dante left a trail of warm kisses over his neck and clavicle. _Don't trust him. You know he doesn't trust you_.

He didn't mean for it to happen, he wasn't even sure how it happened, really, except that Dante's hands felt like fire, and somehow his clothes were gone and Dante's mouth was everywhere. Even as his mind protested both the seduction and the threat that Dante's very being implied, his body succumbed to the onslaught of pleasure. He didn't remember falling back on the bed but somehow his head was on the pillow, and Dante was on him, and doing things that made Nero unable to even begin to articulate how they made him feel.

He gasped and thrashed and shuddered, aware that Dante hadn't made a move towards actually _taking _him and instead was simply exploring his body using his tongue and impossibly clever fingers. And he thought that maybe Dante was watching him sadly, the man's eyes darker and more serious than he'd ever seen them, but it was difficult to think about the hunter's eyes when his mouth was so distracting. He came hard over Dante's hand and chest, sated and relaxed enough to fall asleep, barely noticing the kiss Dante pressed to his forehead. If he'd been more awake, he would've punched the man for it.

* * *

So I'm hoping my writer's block is over and done with, and that my current momentum carries this story right to its (admittedly well overdue) ending. If anyone's still following, I thank you kindly for your patience. Would love to hear your thoughts on this, even if you hated it. That's totally okay. Sometimes I hate it too.


	22. Architect

Doubt

This is rated M for language, violence, disturbing content, and sexual themes. Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC, and that fact saddens me greatly.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Much appreciated, more than you know. This chapter is really slow and draggy, and pretty much nothing happens. Sorry.

ALSO: I will not be posting edited versions of my stories, nor will I repost anything that gets removed. I will continue to update work here as long as I am able, and afterwards I will upload my work to the adult fanfiction site, or AO3 once they get that running more smoothly. I apologize for updating slowly, but thinking that this site will delete my work (again, 10 years later) is really disheartening. Anyway, to reiterate, this fic is rated M, not MA. :P

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: Architect

Nero awoke to a cold and empty bed, sitting up drowsily in the pale morning light. Around him, the room filled with his belongings, his _past_, seemed not unfriendly but simply indifferent. It was as though he didn't matter to this place at all, whether he was there or not. Raking his talons through his hair, he untangled himself from the blankets and rolled gracelessly to his feet. Dante was nowhere to be seen, but Nero didn't care. At all. Right.

He strode to the window and looked out into the back garden, noting the high yew hedge and the overgrowth of bramble in the corners. The bustle of the nearby street was muffled, although Nero's sharp hearing could pick out voices. He pushed the window open further, catching a whiff of the honeysuckle growing nearby. It was still in flower, Fortuna's warm climate stretching out the autumn and keeping the winter at bay. A breeze brought the tang of salt air into the room, and a wave of homesickness washed over the teen, startling in its intensity. _This is what you missed when you were in Capulet City. Remember? _

Turning away, Nero rummaged through the dresser drawers, hating that all the clothes within were unfamiliar yet exactly his size. There were other small items tucked away amongst the garments: a formal adoption certificate bearing his name, a folded copy of his records from the orphanage, a studded leather bracelet, Credo's pocket watch, and a few rounds from a rifle he had no recollection of owning. Nero picked them up, one by one, waiting for a memory to be triggered, for all of his thoughts to fall into place.

It was disappointing, really. He sighed, resisting the urge to search the room, looking for something -_anything_- that would ground him firmly in reality. _Nothing like grasping at straws. _Instead he selected a few pieces of clothing that looked especially comfortable, and headed out in search of the bathroom. The hallway was filled with the smell of breakfast cooking, and Nero could hear Kyrie's soft voice, sounding pleased and almost happy. Dante's voice drifted to him as well, a low rumbling response to Kyrie's lilt.

It took effort to keep from joining them immediately, but the shower, once he'd found it, was incredibly worth it. The warmth relaxed his muscles and soothed his bruises, and for nearly a full minute Nero was almost calm. It was gone a heartbeat later, the dull edges of his paranoia rushing back to meet him, despair welling up from the depths of his mind. _Fucking hell. _He shut the taps off hastily and toweled dry, wondering why Dante had chosen to let him sleep through the night, rather than head up to the castle under the cover of darkness. _Does it even matter? He'll have to kill you sooner or later; maybe he doesn't care either way. He offered to stay in the cabin with you, didn't he? And you both knew it was a death sentence. _

Nero dressed swiftly and followed the scent of frying bacon to the kitchen, trying to keep his face neutral. The room he wandered into was large but homey, painted a cheerful yellow, with dark wooden beams exposed across the ceiling. Dante sat at one end of an oaken table, bemusedly leafing through a newspaper and nursing a cup of coffee. Kyrie stood at the stove, her attention divided between a multitude of pans and kettles, and Dante.

"It's all there, those are the right dates. The accident report is on the third page, and then in the other paper there's the obituary. I don't understand. Why would they…" Kyrie spotted him and trailed off. "Nero," she breathed, softly, as though she thought she might be dreaming.

He forced a smile and accepted her hug. "Need any help cooking?"

Kyrie rolled her eyes, somehow managing to make the expression look both cajoling and offended. "Go sit down. I hardly ever get a chance to cook for anyone anymore. There's toast and coffee to start with, and there's fruit in the fridge." She made a shooing gesture, and Nero turned in time to see Dante smirking at the pair of them.

"Don't try to argue with her, kid. I think she'd win." The slayer nudged the chair beside him over, motioning Nero closer.

"Of course I'd win," Kyrie huffed, as though it should be obvious. "But as I was saying, all the information I have is what you see in the papers. I mean, Nero was certainly more…"

"Mouthy?" Dante suggested. Nero scowled.

"Independent," Kyrie continued, "than the rest of the Knights. He worked best alone, and he could handle it. There were times when he'd be gone a week, be back home for a day, and then be sent off into the mountains again. And that was standard for him, nothing special." She turned to Nero, setting a plate heaped with scrambled eggs and pancakes in front of him. "You used to say you liked it better that way, not having to slow down for anyone, or wait for officers to make decisions."

"Yeah," Nero agreed, trying to organize his thoughts and find his memories. He buttered a piece of toast to stall for time.

"And I remember him whining about the townsfolk and their prejudices all the time, when he first showed up at the office. Although after the Saviour incident, I can't say I blame them for being wary of demonic forces." Dante added, making Nero wonder whether he was being rescued or lambasted.

"They still had no right to be hateful towards him. Nero's as much a citizen as anyone else here, Knight or civilian."

"I'd of thought they'd leave him be, given his charming personality," Dante drawled, earning a smack from the teen.

Kyrie looked chagrined. "They wouldn't take him on physically. Even the biggest guys weren't that brave, or stupid. It was the comments that bothered me the most. I mean, Nero saved this town, and look at all the thanks he got!" She sat a plate in front of Dante with much more force than was necessary.

"Sounds like you should be looking for a new place," Dante suggested, reaching for his fork.

"Where would I go?" Kyrie sighed. "All my family's buried here."

* * *

By mid-afternoon, Nero could hardly stand the sight of his family home. It was becoming familiar in an eerie way, like a nightmare where everything seemed almost normal, almost perfect, save for a few little details that marred the illusion and sent dread crawling down one's spine. He resented that Dante was keeping them here, instead of heading into the mountains to the castle. His restlessness set them all on edge, until even Kyrie gave a tight smile and announced that she was heading downtown to pick up the mail and buy groceries for supper.

Nero viewed her impending departure with mixed feelings. He figured she knew that things were worse than she'd been told; the girl was brilliant, after all. It'd been frustrating to keep up a façade of normalcy that was obviously fake to everyone in the vicinity, but sister or no, he wasn't going to just blurt out how crazy he'd become. Given Kyrie's uncanny intuition, it was likely she had half an idea, anyway. On the other hand, he hadn't wanted her to leave. His entire being was saturated with a sense of doom, and if he only had a day left to spend with his sister, then he needed to make the most of it.

And he'd tried, he really had. He'd kept up an empty and meaningless conversation for the better part of three hours until they'd both been left staring sadly at each other, patience wearing thin. Kyrie had blinked back tears and recited the details of her life while he'd been away, and he'd tried to tell her about Capulet City. Dante had watched the entire charade impassively, ostensibly reading up on the history of the Order, but in all likelihood preparing to jump on Nero at the first sign of a violent episode.

It was fucking depressing, and Nero was left feeling guilty relief as he watched his sister toss on a black overcoat and head out the door. He wandered back down the hallway, listlessly peering at the dull portraits of his adopted ancestors that lined the walls. A lot of the faces looked like Credo's, and didn't he just _hate _that. A soft sound distracted him from the paintings, and he found Dante in the doorway of the parlour, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"What?" Nero snapped, instantly defensive, planting his feet and folding his arms over his chest.

"Didn't take you too long to scare her off. And here I was thinking I was doing both of you a favour." Dante leaned against the carved doorframe with the relaxed grace of a predator.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nero demanded, stepping a pace closer.

Dante tilted his head slightly, as if to scrutinize Nero better. "She's all the family you've got left. If things go… poorly… you'll never see each other again." He looked as though he might've added more, but had decided otherwise. Nero wondered if Dante was thinking about his brother and decided he didn't like the comparison. _Just one more devil to kill, right? _

"Pretty sure I'm already dead to her, Dante."

"Yeah, well…" Dante trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I tried." He shrugged and turned away, ambling into the neglected parlour. The afternoon sunlight sent golden dust-motes flittering through the air, but did little to lift the gloom. Dante dropped heavily onto a sofa and stretched out his legs in front of him.

"What are you going on about?" Nero stalked after the slayer, irritated and itching for a fight in a kind of deliriously over-tired, masochistic sort of way. He stood over Dante, glowering down at the older man.

"Don't be an idiot, Nero. Say goodbye to her before we leave tonight. I don't have the patience to supervise another visit filled with your sad-ass, phony conversation."

"So, what? You were being nice to me?"

"I gave you a whole extra day with your sister. I babysat so you wouldn't hurt anyone if you went out of your mind." Dante sounded as though he'd been martyred, which did nothing to help the teen's dark mood.

"Thanks," Nero drawled sarcastically, beginning to pace around the room. "Did you find anything out while you were pretending to read today?"

"Only that Kyrie's a lot sharper than she lets on. And a lot sadder. And she played along with your awkward chitchat for your sake, but you're right. She's not even hopeful that things will work out. She grieved for you once and won't do it again."

Nero stopped his pacing to stare at Dante, resisting the urge to press his talons through his palm until the scales split open and warm blood oozed through. "Coming here was stupid."

"Not entirely," the hunter began, his tone brisk and businesslike. "We know what the Order's been telling Kyrie, we know how long you were missing, and we have a place to start looking for more information." Dante paused to reach into his trench-coat. "I don't know about all these rings though. They all look the same to me, and the only _really _weird thing is that these ones were in the Temen-ni-gru. I thought that they'd be clues about you, after you walked towards the tower that night, and when Trish and Lady found a Blitz there, but now it seems that they're everywhere. What does the Order do, hand them out like candy?"

Nero snorted. "You get a set when you join. Your family gets them if you die. They all look identical, but the Order knows which rings belong to each Knight, even if the Knight doesn't."

"So if you're wearing yours, then we've got two extra sets; one from the tower, and one from here. And apparently Credo's are missing."

"Great work, detective," Nero rolled his eyes. He sank down on the sofa beside the slayer, hating that he felt exhausted all the time now. And that was different, wasn't it? Surely he'd always had boundless energy before; he'd never met anyone who could keep up with him, besides Dante. He glanced at the hunter, frowning slightly. Dante smirked at him.

"Detective? Well, it is my other job title, you know." The statement was accompanied by an appraising once-over.

"What, other than man-whore?" Nero scowled, folding his arms over his chest. "Or butcher?"

Dante snorted, and for a second his smile reached his eyes and seemed genuine. He sobered almost instantly, though. The rapid change in mood left Nero wondering if he could really be blamed for his confusion, given that half the time he was dealing with a vicious killer, and the other half, a lazy pervert. _I'm messed up enough without having to wade through Dante's issues, as well. He's gotta fucking stop doing that. _

"Doing what?"

Nero glared, somewhat annoyed that he'd spoken his thoughts out loud. "Never mind, geezer. You'd probably just forget if I told you, anyway."

"Of the two of us, it's your memory that's fucked, not mine, kid." Dante's reply was pointed, and, Nero had to admit, accurate. He didn't bother trying to argue, and instead picked a leather-bound book off the coffee-table in front of him, leafing through it to avoid having to look at Dante.

"I never know where I stand with you," he muttered finally, hearing defeat in his own voice and hating it.

"But when I do tell you, you don't believe me, or you forget, or whatever it is that your brain does," Dante scoffed, twisting sideways to face him. "And it should be obvious, given that I've dragged your sorry ass halfway across the country trying to find something that might sav- _help_ you, that I want you to get better. I mean, for what it's worth," Dante continued, his voice strangely tight, "I'd rather not have to hack you into pieces."

"You don't sound very confident," Nero spat. To his surprise, Dante seemed to wince at his words. The slayer stared off into the distance for a long moment, then turned back to Nero. He slung one arm around the teen's shoulders, tugging him closer.

"In all honesty, kid, I think you're probably beyond any help I can give." He paused, but Nero remained silent. "Excepting this." Dante held up Ivory in his other hand, then holstered the weapon, the threat blatant. The slayer's expression was guarded, a thoughtful frown beginning to form. Abruptly, he grabbed a fistful of the younger man's hair, as though he'd been trying to keep his temper and it had just escaped him. "And… I hate that _so much_, Nero. I won't stop trying to help you, but…"

"You think it's pointless, right? You think that even if the Order is to blame, stirring things up will just result in another Saviour-type incident, with a ruined town and hundreds dead, and that even then I'll still be fucked. This trip is ultimately just a way to kill time until it's… time. I get it, Dante. I understand." Nero's voice was laced with a frustration he knew was both misplaced and useless, but he couldn't suppress it.

"I don't think you do," Dante whispered. He touched Nero's face with an unexpected gentleness, his fingertips grazing the teen's cheekbone before sliding to his jaw. Nero suppressed a flinch and allowed the contact, confused by the whirl of emotions surrounding him. Was it really that hopeless, that all they were doing was waiting for the end? _Some Knight you turned out to be. If you're going to die, shouldn't you at least die on your feet, fighting?_

Nero exhaled slowly, not realizing that he'd been holding his breath. Dante moved to pull him closer, but the teen stopped him with a hand on his chest. They stared hard at each other for a long moment, pale eyes meeting a deeper blue.

"You're not a waste of time, Nero." Dante's thumb brushed the teen's lips, the gaze between them so intense that Nero blushed with embarrassment and averted his eyes. Dante laughed and leaned in to kiss him, but Nero turned away, forcing the other man to relinquish his grip.

"Let's just… let's just go. Now. No sense in waiting for nightfall if I could lose it again any minute. There can't be that many guards around the castle anyway, not with the amount of troops I've heard patrolling the streets." Nero knew he was babbling. He risked a glance at the slayer, but Dante's expression was now closed and impossible to read.

"Alright, then. We can do that, if that's what you want," Dante began, his words sounding almost imperceptibly forced. He rose to his feet and straightened his trench-coat. "And what about Kyrie?"

Nero shook his head slightly. "She'll be okay," he muttered. "She's used to it. Let's just get this over with." Nero stood and stretched, then began to mentally catalogue their supplies, fighting to order his thoughts. He didn't bother to look at Dante again.

* * *

This will be finished, but writing it is like pulling teeth. I did have to go back and re-read the entire thing so I could remember where I was going with it. :P And yeah, parts definitely need re-writes, but that's what happens when a planned 10 chapter fic meets my inability to get to the point. Anyway, if anyone's still interested, please review or pm me. Future chapters will actually have action, I promise.


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